Geminus Decursus
by Charlotte Temples
Summary: Two women running from their dark past find themselves at Hadrian's Wall, and when Arthur takes them in under his protection, it becomes quite clear they're in more trouble than originally assumed...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

**Author's Note**: I know, I know. It's been a while since I've put up a story, but I actually plan on finishing this one. Well, that is, if I get reviews! This first chapter _does _include Arthur and several of his knights, but it is entirely in the POV of an OC. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!

3 Charlotte

Chapter One

It wasn't until Hadrian's wall was only a few miles away and clear in their sight that Helena became aware of the fact that she couldn't feel anything below her waist, though whether it was from the cold or the blood loss, she wasn't certain. She had been riding for hours and hours without rest, still managing to stay upright only by the grace of God, and her stubborn will not to fall off of the large black stallion she rode upon. Next to her, her twin sister Livia was drifting off in her saddle, a sight that worried Helena immensely, forcing her to poke her sister awake, lest she fall off of the saddle.

Helena winced when she drew out her arm to poke her sister awake, feeling more flesh tear at her wound. On the left side of her stomach, a broken-off arrow shaft protruded ominously from her flesh, blood dripping off of its tip at intervals. The only doctoring her wound had received so far was the wrapping of a bed sheet around it to catch the blood and hopefully stave it off a bit, though she couldn't tie it tightly for fear of causing more damage upon herself than was already inflicted. The pain was bad, but it was bearable enough, and if Helena ever doubted herself, she just needed to remember that if she didn't stay alive, there wouldn't be anyone to watch after Livia, and the idea was frightening enough for her to wake up a little as she felt herself drifting off. Attempting to ignore the light-headed dizziness that had overcome her, Helena kept her sharp eyes trained on the woods that they traveled through. It had not been a good idea to travel through Woad territory the way they were, but there was no more a direct path to Hadrian's Wall and Artorius' fortress there, and Helena intended to get herself and Livia to safety as soon as possible.

Once again, she could spot Livia drifting off in her saddle, and Helena whistled loudly, awakening her sister once again. The two were exhausted, yes, but they couldn't afford to stop and rest. Helena wasn't sure if she'd be able to get up again if she were to lie down, and the idea that her dear sister would be all alone in a strange world was enough to keep her fighting the urge to lay down and die. For the past few nights, even before she had been shot with that bloody arrow, Helena had remained sleepless, choosing instead to keep a constant watch over the campsite they had made, or just unable to sleep at all no matter how tired she was. Livia, on the other hand, had been plagued with violent nightmares. Ones that made her screams ring loudly through the woods as she struggled to fight off her insistent and invisible attackers. When Helena wasn't keeping watch, she was comforting her weeping twin, speaking to her in the hushed tone their mother often used to keep them calm.

"I'm tired, Helena. Can't we stop for a little while to rest?" Livia's voice was strained, and Helena knew that her sister's request was not her normal complaint that could be taken lightly and handled loosely. No, Livia truly was about to fall out of the saddle. However, Helena couldn't risk stopping. Especially not in this area, and while they were so close to Hadrian's wall.

"Why don't you come climb up behind me and sleep? I'll take care of your horse," Helena offered, slowing enough for her sister to almost fall out of her horse's saddle and into Helena's. Livia tiredly rested her head on her sister's back, and Helena fought to ignore the wave of pain sent through her body when her twin wrapped her arms around Helena's waist. She couldn't show weakness, not when they were being watched so closely, which they certainly were. Helena could almost _feel _the Woads watching them as they trotted through the forest.

Helena took a hold of the dapple mare's reigns and clucked the horses into a faster pace, hoping to clear the woods and get into the field separating them from Hadrian's wall very quickly. The longer they staid in the area, the more likely they would be attacked by the natives, and Helena wasn't up for a battle at the moment. She was curious as to why they hadn't been attacked yet, but she supposed there was a chance that the Woads didn't see them as a threat and were letting them pass without peril, though she had never heard of such a thing happening before. If they knew who Livia was... well Helena was fairly certain that neither of them would still be alive at the moment if the Woads had the slightest inkling of what was passing through their homelands.

The steady beat of the horse beneath her was lulling Helena into a slight stupor that she fought off with great difficulty. She looked down at her wound only to find her tunic stained with fresh blood that the bedding had failed to absorb. She was starting to get the feeling that perhaps she wasn't going to be alive for very much longer. Judging by the tingling sensations running up and down her numb legs, her body was slowly giving out. Helena could only hope that she got Livia to the wall before her body finally gave up its battle and sent her back to the realm of heaven. If she failed Livia, Helena was certain that she would be sent to hell instead, even if she was to survive.

Spurred on by the fear of her own demise before reaching the wall, Helena clucked the horses into a gallop, heedless of the difficult terrain. She was no master horseman, that was for certain, but she knew how to get them going. She was just lucky enough to have a pair of horses that weren't stupid and could feel the tension in the air around them. They dodged trees and jumped over fallen stumps with ease, something she appreciated greatly as she felt the blood loss begin to affect her mind, making it wander easily. She wasn't in the right state to go through a difficult trail.

"Only a little farther," she reassured herself, and almost let out a whoop of joy when the horses broke the tree line, and she found herself in the field in front of Hadrian's wall. She raced the horses even faster, their feet pounding gracefully on the ground. They passed a large tree, and finally Helena found herself at the large gate that was between her and freedom.

"Who goes there?" called a guard from atop the wall, a man in full armor, who looked down at her menacingly. Trying to look as pleasant and innocent as possible while hugging her torso with one arm in order to hide the bloodstain expanding on her shirt, Helena looked up at him to answer.

"My sister and I request permission to enter. We need a place to stay and some medical care," she called back up to him. "Tales of the great Arthur and his Sarmatian knights reach even as far as we live. We are praying their generosity is as vast as the stories say, or we may well die right outside your gate, sir."

The guard considered her for a second before turning to someone unseen upon the wall and nodding to them. Before Helena could actually become nervous about it all, the gate began to open up. Helena let out a barely audible sigh and felt her sister stir behind her. How strange that her yelling up to the guard had done nothing to awaken Livia, but the slightest of sighs immediately roused her.

"Are we here already?" her voice was groggy, but Livia was unmistakably awake and looking about them with wide eyes.

"Yes, we're here," Helena replied, smiling slightly. "I suppose Arthur and his men _are _as good as everyone makes them sound, thank God. I was worried for a moment."

Once the gate had opened enough, Helena took the two horses through the doorway, holding their reigns with her left hand while her right arm still rested across her stomach, hiding the wound on her side. If worse came to worse, they could send for a healer that they could maybe afford with the small purse they carried. Otherwise, Helena was fine to take care of herself, at least she hoped she was.

As they rode in, Helena and Livia were immediately greeted by three men on horses, all of which were well-armed. Livia's surprised stir behind Helena meant that something strange had assaulted her strange twin's senses about the men, and Helena wished she could see her sister's eyes to get an idea of what she had seen. The visions had started when they were only three years old, and since then Helena had been the one always taking care of her twin, younger than she by only two minutes but a great deal weaker due to their different bringing up. While their father had Helena out working in the fields and doing heavy lifting, their mother had Livia inside, teaching her the ancient art of 'reading'. Yes, they were both literate, but it was a different sort of reading that Livia could do and that Helena had never been gifted with. It was not something that Helena was unhappy about. She knew how horribly the visions taxed her sister's psyche, could see it every time their eyes met. She could sense it when her sister turned away with bright eyes upon meeting a new person, trying to hide the effects from her twin. But Livia had always know she couldn't hid anything from Helena, and as much as she didn't want to admit to her weakness, very much appreciated her sister's invaluable help.

"Welcome to southern Briton," greeted the man seated on the horse in the center, one with piercing green eyes and dark hair. Judging by his roman armor and the way that his men looked to him, Helena guessed he was the leader of the trio, but it wasn't until she looked at the men alongside him that she realized who he truly was.

To the man's right was a man with a head full of curly dark hair and wickedly dark eyes that immediately took in every inch of the incredibly uncomfortable Helena. He wore two swords at his back, and road with a deft grace that did not go unnoticed by the young woman.

To the man's left was another man, whose brown hair was braided in random places, and hung in his face, obscuring Helena's view of him. However she could see the tattoos that adorned his cheeks, and Helena knew he had to be a Sarmatian. There wasn't a single person in Briton or Rome who would adorn themselves as such that wasn't a Woad. It was his eyes that held her for a moment, a piercing darkness that seemed to absorb her, taking in every inch and then delving even deeper, just in one glance.

"Thank you for granting us entrance," she replied to the leader, who could only by Arthur judging by the Sarmatians that followed him so closely. "I am Helena, this is my sister Livia."

At this, Livia poked her head out from where she had been fairly hiding behind her sister, and the men caught sight of her. Helena knew exactly what they saw, for she saw the same thing every time she looked in the mirror. A head full of long blonde hair that ranged from shades the color of platinum to strands the color of the darkest ash. Pale skin brightened from exertion and the ride, and grey-blue eyes that observed everything and said nothing in return. There wasn't an inch upon Helena's body that wasn't the exact same upon Livia's. However, there wasn't a single doubt in Helena's mind that at the moment, she wasn't looking her very best. She was steadily becoming more and more aware of the sleeve of her tunic being soaked with blood where it lay over her wound and warming the flesh beneath. She needed a healer, and soon.

"I am Arthur, these are my men, Lancelot," first he gestured to the man on his right, with the curly hair. "And Tristan," and then to the man with the braided hair and extremely piercing eyes. "Come to my fortress, I will have someone see to your needs."

"Thank you," she replied in earnest.

Livia dismounted from behind her and took up her mare once more, her nap sustaining her well enough to ride to the fortress on her own. Helena very much suspected that her sister's movement was due to pride more than awareness. To be seen riding on the back of her sister's horse would probably be mortifying to Livia. It was her sister's pride that most entertained Helena about her. She would often do rather ridiculous things in order to hold her pride intact, and Helena would watch from a distance and shake with laughter until she had to go clean up after her sister's newest incident.

"You are a Roman?" addressed the one called Lancelot, who had flanked her to her left while Livia was to her right. For a moment, Helena considered her answer before deciding that telling him the truth was probably the best thing to do. If she started telling lies, she'd end up telling too many and would be unable to keep her story straight enough to be plausible.

"Our mother was a Sarmation, actually. But our father was a Roman, yes," she replied. "Before Livia and I were born he was a soldier for the army, but instead he chose to move to northern Briton and watch over a colony."

"And your mother? She lived with you?" he seemed genuinely interested, and Helena couldn't help but wonder how much of Sarmatia he actually remembered. When she was younger she had visited her mother's homelands once, and her memories were still vivid of the beautiful place.

"Yes. She was his wife," she replied, taking pleasure in the small shock of surprise that ran across his face. She didn't blame him. Most of the time, when Sarmatian women were impregnated by Roman soldiers, they would be forced to give up their bastard children or serve as the man's concubine. That her father had married her mother was an admirable and very strange thing.

"Oh, Helena, look!" exclaimed Livia, pointing forward, and Helena diverted her attentions from Lancelot to the stone fortress that was materializing in the distance. She had never before seen such a grand structure in her life, and spent a moment staring open mouthed at the tall walls surrounding the city, crowned by Roman soldiers in uniform.

"This is my home," introduced Arthur, gesturing to the fortress ahead of them. "You and your sister are welcome to stay here as long as you wish, for as long as you are within the walls of my home, you are guaranteed safety."

Helena couldn't help but give a weak smile. It would have been the wide, brilliant smile that shone on her sister's face at Arthur's words if she wasn't suddenly much more aware of the sharp pulling at her side and the rushes of warm blood soaking through the sleeve of her tunic. Her wound would be exposed to the knights at any moment and there wasn't any doubt in her mind that they would notice. These men weren't famous for being unperceptive.

"There is something wrong," the man called Tristan stated, the first words she had heard him say since she met him.

At first, her eyes scanned the protective barrier for some sign of trouble, but she saw none. Finally, when she turned to Tristan, mouth open to ask what he meant, she realized he was looking at her when he said it, his eyes fixated quite pointedly upon her right arm still hugging her torso closely. She looked down, expecting to see that the wide sleeves of her tunic had not concealed the blossoming bloodstains upon her shirt, but it wasn't visible unless she lifted her arm slightly, where it was beginning to stick to the fabric from the sticky blood.

"Your side, why do you hold it like that?" Lancelot seemed to have caught on to Tristan's stare, and Helena felt the slightest of panics begin to rise within her as Arthur turned in his saddle to face her as he still rode forward. Livia was looking at her as well with a rather obvious look of horror upon her face. More than ever, Helena wished she could have taught her sister to school her features better.

"Oh, I got hurt in our travels. It's nothing serious, I assure you. I planned on visiting with the healer the moment we entered the fortress," Helena replied quickly, and realized a moment later it was too quickly to be brushed off lightly. There was no doubt in her mind that her ruse had been revealed. Would the men kick them out, believing her to be a threat because of the people hunting her sister? Or would they believe her if she said that it was just from a Woad that had attacked them?

"Is that so? Show me then, I know a few things of doctoring," Arthur had placed himself between Helena and Livia and was looking at her with a serious expression on his handsome face.

For a moment, Helena hesitated, but realizing that there was no point in it, she removed her right arm from around her waist to reveal the large bloodstain that it had been covering. She heard Lancelot mutter a loud curse, and Arthur had an unreadable expression on his face that she very much suspected was one of shock. Tristan looked on impassively. Livia wasn't looking at all, her eyes fixated on the ground in front of her horse. Helena knew her sister didn't react well to blood and other such things, and would get even woozier if presented with the blood of her kin. When they were children, whenever Helena managed to hurt herself, it would be Livia who cried, and not her.

"What happened to you?" Arthur managed to choke out.

"I was caught by a Woad's arrow a day ago. We don't have the medication to care for it, and I didn't want to pull out the arrow. I figured the bleeding would be much worse if I did so," she replied. "It's really not a problem. I can barely feel it."

"That's not a good thing," contributed Tristan.

"We must get her to Dagonet, and quickly," Arthur commanded. "Tristan, take her onto your horse and ride ahead of us."

"But what of Livia?" Helena immediately protested. "I cannot leave my sister."

"We will take care of her. You need to see a doctor," Lancelot replied, and Helena felt Tristan lift her easily out of her saddle before placing her upon the horse in front of him with ease. It was as if she weighed nothing, and considering that Helena hadn't eaten in days, sacrificing her share of the food to her sister instead (though Livia wasn't aware of the fact), she wouldn't be much surprised.

"But Livia..." she protested again, but her twin cut her off quickly.

"I'll be fine, Helena," she said sharply. "Go see to yourself."

Without warning, Tristan's horse set off at a hard gallop, though its rider hadn't made any movements that suggested he had commanded it to do so. Helena found herself unwillingly clinging to him to keep from being thrown from her precarious position upon the saddle. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders to keep her balanced while the other held the reigns to direct the horse, and Helena felt safe enough to stop panicking. But it was then that she truly began to feel the wear and tear her body had gone through over the past few weeks. It had been so long since she had properly slept, or eaten, or been able to bathe in something that wasn't a half frozen over stream. Sheer exhaustion accompanied by blood loss made her eyelids feel rather heavy, and it wasn't until she had actually done it that Helena realized she had fallen asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

**Author's Note: **Thanks to **janell** for reviewing!

Chapter Two

The girl was in poor condition, there was no doubt to that. When Tristan had first seen her, he had sensed the weariness of her character, a sort of fought-off exhaustion that was quickly catching up with her. Accompanied by the way she had been so protective of her sister, he had his suspicions that it wasn't a Woad's arrow that pierced the girl's side. However, he wouldn't bring it up with Arthur until he was absolutely sure. Tristan had never been wrong before, but he was hoping he was wrong this time. There was something about these girls that made him hope that they weren't common thieves or murderers on the run from the law, and there was a part of him that knew that there was something else going on. Something he couldn't begin to understand.

When he reached the inner walls of the fortress, Tristan was almost immediately bombarded by Roman soldiers, curious to know who the beautiful young woman asleep against his chest was. However, when they noticed her blood stained shirt and the fierce look in his eyes, they quickly backed away and back to whatever they had been doing previously. He lifted the girl with him from the saddle and as graceful on land as he was on a horse, made his way to Dagonet's room bearing the light load without any difficulty. The girl was unusually light, in Tristan's experiences most women actually had a bit of a heft to them to remind you they were there. However holding this girl was like holding the slight weight of his hawk. As if, if he were to drop her, she could fly away. However, Tristan wasn't about to test this hypothesis, and instead kicked open his fellow knight's door. Dagonet had been sitting at the window when Tristan marched through the doorway, but his expression of confusion quickly changed to one of seriousness upon seeing the bloodied girl in the scout's arms.

"Put her on my bed," he commanded, grabbing his kit off of the dresser. Dagonet's father had been a local healer back in Sarmatia, and coupled with the things he had picked up from being a soldier, Dagonet had always been a capable medic in difficult times. There was rarely a time when he wasn't put to use for such things.

Tristan stood in the corner and watched as Dagonet worked, waiting any command the soldier might give him. The large man quickly removed the girl's tunic, beneath which they found a bloody bed sheet wrapped around her torso, apparently an attempt to stay the bleeding, though it didn't seem to work at all. He removed the bloody sheet, dropping it to the flagstones, and found a shaft of an arrow protruding from her flesh several inches out. Dagonet cursed in a way that reminded Tristan oddly of Bors, then turned to his fellow knight.

"Call to a maid, have her bring boiling hot water, some bandages and a few herbs," Dagonet rattled off a small list of herbs which Tristan immediately committed to memory.

Much to their luck, a young maid was just making her way down the hallway when he stepped out and he signaled her down, giving her the order and adding 'and quickly or you'll pay the consequences' at the end for added effect. She quickly scurried off and Tristan ducked back into the room, where Dagonet was digging through his kit for anything he could use to take the arrow out with. Already, a spool of thread and a needle rested alongside the bed on a table, and a candle was lit to sterilize the tools with. A few moments later, several maids arrived with the items Dagonet had requested, and hurried right back out of the room upon the sight of the bloodied maiden. Dagonet used the boiling water to clean the wound, and Tristan winced, remembering all the times he had been given the same treatment. It was certainly a painful one, and the girl was lucky to be unconscious.

"This is worse that I thought," Dagonet muttered and Tristan stepped forward, looking over his shoulder. The wound seemed much wider than where the arrow shaft protruded.

"What's that?" Tristan asked, confused by the sight.

"She must've had this for a few days, and I bet she's been riding with it. The arrow's been shifting with her movements, making the wound wider. She'll be lucky if she doesn't die from this."

Tristan frowned at this. The girl had only said she carried the arrow for a day. Had she been lying to them? Most likely it was so. It seemed she and her sister had something to hide, and if Tristan couldn't get it out of Livia, then he would get it out of Helena. He watched as Dagonet carefully cleaned the wound, wiping out dirt from the deep gash along her side. Tristan silently cursed whoever had done this to her as he watched. Women weren't to be fired upon, they were meant to be taken care of and respected. It was troublesome that no one else saw it that way, even men who claimed to be 'better' than a Sarmatian scout that killed for the fun of it.

With a slightly forlorn sigh, Dagonet removed a tool from his bag, one that made Tristan clench his fists. The tool was specially made to remove arrow heads, a new invention sent to them by Rome, but it hurt like pigs covered in spikes being nailed all over your body. Just looking at it made the old scars Tristan bore sting as if they were fresh. He did not envy the girl this experience, but luckily she had yet to awaken, something that was no doubt for the best. If the healing process was enough to make a man like Tristan uncomfortable, he didn't want to think what it would do to a young girl who wasn't experienced with such wounds. He had been tempted to say 'used to such wounds', but the truth was you never got used to them. No matter how many times one was shot with an arrow, it hurt the same the first time as it did the last. There was no getting used to pain like that, there was only learning to grit your teeth and bear it like a knight rather than complain about it like a child. With the squeak of bad hinges, the arrow remover closed in on something within the girl and Dagonet gave a strong tug, removing the entire arrow, head and all. However, the removal of an arrow also constitutes the loss of a great deal of blood, and Tristan found himself surprised by how quickly she was bleeding out.

"Tristan come apply pressure to this while I do something," Dagonet commanded and Tristan obediently took Dagonet's place perched on the side of the bed, one hand finding the rag Dagonet had placed over the bleeding wound and pressing down on it, though not hard enough to cause her too much pain. He tried not to concentrate on the fact that the girl was completely naked from the waist up, only her long hair preserving her dignity, and instead concentrated on examining her face, which he felt was far more appropriate.

She had a fine brow, which was knitted slightly as she slept, as if perhaps she was having nightmares. Helena's lips were thick and a brilliant red that stood out starkly against her pale skin. Her jaw line was soft, her cheeks only slightly full with the roundness of youth, placing her at nineteen or so years old. He would've thought her a noblewoman if it wasn't for the wiry build that was revealed upon Dagonet removing her shirt. The girl's father probably had her work around the house and the lands more than most women did. Tristan found it odd that her twin did not have the same bearing. While Helena had a vaguely strong and defensive air to her, Livia's was more of a quiet dignity. Of two girls of the same age, and brought up in the same household, it was odd to see them differ so much in kind. Even Livia's clothing was different from Helena's. While Livia wore a fine, soft Roman-styled gown of a pale green, Helena wore the more boyish blue tunic made of a softer fabric than normal, and tailored to fit her shape along with a pair of rough work pants and boots. Perhaps Livia was the favored child.

"You can move now," Dagonet motioned and Tristan stepped out of the way, watching his friend smooth a poultice he had prepared over and into the wound, before heating the needle and dipping the spool of thread into the hot water. So began the slow, agonizing task of stitching the girl up and occasionally stopping to clean the blood leaking out of her wound off of her torso. Once the job was done, Dagonet smeared another poultice onto the neatly stitched wound before binding it carefully. He looked over his work with approval in his eyes before turning to Tristan.

"So who is she?" he asked him, and Tristan couldn't help but be surprised that the man hadn't asked before he had treated her. It just showed was a kind-hearted man Dagonet was. He would've treated the girl even if she was a Saxon or a Woad and thought nothing of it. It was an admirable trait, something Tristan knew he was sorely lacking in.

"A half Roman, half Sarmatian who wandered past Hadrian's wall with her sister," Tristan replied absently, lifting the arrow Dagonet had removed from the girl off of the rag it had been placed on and examining it closely. "Curious," he stated plainly, not elaborating.

"What's curious?" Dagonet finally asked, staring at Tristan with confusion clearly written in his eyes.

"This isn't an Woad arrow," Tristan replied, eyes shining brightly.

Days had passed since their arrival at Hadrian's Wall, and since then Helena had only awoken twice, once in the presence of Dagonet to ask for water, and again when Lancelot had rudely poked her awake to make sure she was still alive. Livia sat by her sister's side nearly every moment she could spare, wishing there was something she could do for her besides weep and speak to her unconscious form. She felt so lost without strong, smart Helena advising her as to what the wise path was to choose. That was the best thing about Helena. Not once had she ever told Livia to do anything, she only pointed out the paths she could take, gave a word or two of advice and then left it to Livia to decide what she wished to proceed with. Sometimes, it felt like Helena was several years older than her, rather than several minutes. Perhaps it was all of the babying that Livia had been given throughout her life that made her twin so protective and caring of her, but Livia expected it was out of sheer love that Helena took care of her, and that belief alone was what kept Livia going every day.

The dreams had been getting worse, and what was bad was that Livia couldn't interpret a single bit of it. There was vague images flashing across the back of her head every moment of every day, but it was just out of her reach, so she could only be slightly aware of them as opposed to the other things she could pick up as a reader. Every day was more and more tiring than the rest as Livia attempted to cope with the constant intake of information, trying not to be driven mad by the constant noise in the back of her head. When they were children, their mother used to hold Livia whenever she had an 'episode', trying to calm her. And when they got older, it was Helena who had looked after Livia so kindly after the worst of her nightmares. It was their connection as twins that made it so much easier for Livia to come to Helena for help. It was as if her sister already knew what was wrong before Livia had to say anything. In fact, Livia had originally assumed that Helena was a reader as well, the way that she could assess people so easily upon reading them. However, Livia was the only 'cursed' one, as she referred to it. Helena would never know what it was like to never have a moment of tranquility and silence.

Her sister stirred slightly in her sleep, and Livia felt a flash of pain that was not her own as Helena's brows knitted from the pain she felt in her sleep, before her face softened again. She couldn't help but pray her sister would awaken soon, Livia had to side step every single knight in the fortress, not an easy feat when they seemed to be everywhere at once even though there was only a few of them. She wouldn't say a word until she spoke with Helena first. And personally, she wanted her sister to do all of the talking.

"Wake up, Helena. Please wake up," she pleaded with her sister as she had been doing for the past few days now upon the realization that she was completely lost without her. "You must stop being sick and come help me. It's no fair to sleep through everything and leave me to all of the hard work, Helena. You know you're the only one that's any good at all of that. You're supposed to be taking care of me."

"Do you think she can hear you?" came a voice from the doorway, and Livia jumped in surprise. Leaning in the doorway casually was Tristan, who she had been avoiding the most out of all of the knights. From what she had gleaned once they reached the fortress and he reported her sister's progress, he suspected something. This definitely wasn't the situation she wanted to be caught in without Helena to help her out.

"I pray that she can, so she may return to me," Livia replied, rising from her seat and curtsying, the way her mother had taught her to greet people of a higher ranking. Tristan ignored her greeting and stalked into the room, though his boots made no sounds on the floor. He stopped at the foot of the bed, his eyes flickering over her sister before returning to Livia.

"Tell me, what is it that your sister is protecting you from?" he asked her bluntly, and Livia recoiled slightly as if having been physically struck. She hadn't expected this from him. And she had no idea what to say. She was no good at lying on the spot.

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," she attempted, though her voice got higher-pitched at the end of the sentence so it sounded more like a question than anything. Tristan advanced upon her, and a flash of memories being echoed from his mind told Livia that this man would kill in an instant without thought or remorse. Livia let out the smallest of sighs. She didn't notice her sister stir slightly on her bed at the sound.

"I think you do know what I'm speaking of," Tristan replied in a hiss. "And I..."

"Oh good Lord, I'm still alive," came an annoyed grumble from the bed and Livia thanked whatever gods had given her sister back to her at the opportune moment. Tristan was immediately distracted by her, grabbing a cup of water off of the sideboard and helping Helena drink it. Livia looked on in confusion. A moment ago, he seemed to be threatening her, and now he was tending to her sister with all of the care of a friend.

"It figures you'd come back to consciousness with sarcasm on your tongue," Livia finally greeted her sister, with a barely contained smile of thankfulness. "You've been out for a while now."

"How long?" Helena croaked. Good lord, she sounded awful. Livia supposed it had something to do with not speaking for so long.

"Five days," Tristan replied for Livia, and Helena looked vaguely surprised.

"I slept for five days? Five _whole _days?" Tristan nodded in response, and Helena gaped slightly, though for some reason Livia felt her twin had heard the exchange between herself and Tristan moments before and was now just bent on distracting him from his question.

"I'll send in Dagonet to look after you," Tristan offered, rising uncomfortably from where he had been so attentive to Helena just moments before. He left without another word.

"What a strange, strange man," mused Helena, shaking her head in bemusement at the closed door. "He was acting as if we were going to attack him."

"Yes..." Livia replied, lost in thought.

"So what great trouble did I save you from?" her sister asked, a wide smile on her face the likes of which Livia hadn't seen in a very long time, not since their parents had died.

"I thought you had heard us!" Livia replied and sat down in bed next to Helena. "He was asking after our past. He knows that you're protecting me."

"Does he know from what? Does he know what you are?" Helena sounded like she was about three words from jumping out of bed, wound be damned, and grabbing a sword so that she might challenge Tristan to a duel to the death. For some reason, Livia wouldn't put it past her sister to attempt to rise after such a dreadful wound.

"No, sister, I didn't tell him anything," she replied. "But I was getting rather worried there. It seemed like he was going to attack me if I didn't."

"Well, I want you to stay as far away from him from now on as possible, and if you happen to be stuck in a room with him, just avoid eye contact," Helena wasn't suggesting it this time, and Livia understood why.

"But what if he manages to corner me and ask me again?" she asked, worry evident in her voice. Helena put a comforting arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze.

"Then you tell him to come to me, and that I'll tell him everything," Helena replied. Surprised, Livia pulled away from her sister.

"You'll tell him... everything?"

"No, no, don't be stupid. I don't know him or the other knights well enough to even suggest what the truth is. If worse comes to worse, I'll kick him in the shin and run away. I won't be telling anyone anything about us until we know we can trust them, and I hope you might do the same. Have you made friends with any of the knights?"

"I met a few others after we got here. Bors, Galahad, and Gawain. And then there's Dagonet, who I suspect will be barging in here any moment to take care of you. I think you'd like them. They aren't as scary as Tristan or intrusive as Lancelot," Livia replied thoughtfully.

"And what do you think of Arthur?" Helena asked curiously.

"Yes, tell me, what do you think of Arthur?" came a voice from the doorway and both of the girls jumped, Helena's hand instantly reaching for the candle next to her bed as if she planned on hitting someone with it. However, when they realized it was none other than Artorius Castus himself standing in the door, Helena let the candlestick go and Livia immediately calmed, standing from her position on the bed to greet their new visitor. Secretly, her heart was pounding, praying that he hadn't heard what had transpired.

"Oh, hello," greeted Helena awkwardly.

"Good morning, Arthur," Livia added, having become more comfortable with the man over the last few days, though they had only spent a fraction of her time together, mostly when he came in to check on Helena and ask how she was faring.

"Good morning indeed. It's good to see you've awakened, Helena," Arthur greeted her, stepping into the room. "You had myself and my men quite worried for a time there. I'm surprised that you've recovered as quickly as you had, however."

"Oh, it's in my blood. We don't cry in our family, but we do bleed a whole lot," both Livia and Arthur smirked at Helena's comment. "It's a good way to off-put the enemy, that bleeding all over them. They get so perturbed that they just slowly inch out of the room."

"That's truly a gift," Arthur replied with a chuckle. "But perhaps one you won't be displaying for quite some time, if we are fortunate."

"Only as long as you can guarantee me no paper cuts or splinters for a while," she replied with a slight smile. "Otherwise you'll be mopping up a whole ocean of the stuff by the end of the week. It's a self defense mechanism, like a porcupine's quills. But it's much better than what Livia's used to be."

Livia sighed, "Please stop telling this to strangers."

"When we were younger," Helena continued, heedless of her sister's words. "Livia used to be so shy that whenever she met someone, she'd throw up all over them. Everywhere. It was awful for the poor maids. We didn't receive visitors for a great long while when that got out in the open."

Arthur was laughing now, and as mortified as Livia was, she had to admit that Helena had a talent. When the leader had first come in, they had both thought of the worst. He was going to ask them then and there who they were and why they were running from something. And if Helena explained, he'd probably kick them out. If she didn't, he'd probably have them killed. That by making a few jokes about vomiting and gushing torrents of blood, Helena had managed to save their necks for at least one more night, Livia could bear the humiliation of that story at least one more time. She was just glad that Helena didn't tell it at special occasions like her father used to.

Dagonet entered the room so quietly that none of them had noticed his arrival until he was already standing right next to Helena. Livia had spent a great deal of time with him over the past five days while she kept watch over her sister and he did much the same. They had moved Helena out of his room shortly after the emergency arrow removal, though Dagonet had insisted that he didn't mind and could sleep on the floor, and had instead placed her in a room two doors down, between Tristan and Livia's rooms. It didn't matter that she was no longer in his room, however, as Dagonet slept on the floor near the fireplace regardless so he could watch over her for any signs of fever or infection. Luckily, Helena had managed to avoid both, quite possible a sign of her stubbornness.

"Lift up your shirt," he commanded, and Helena did so dutifully, blushing slightly when she remembered that Arthur was still in the room. Much to both she and Livia's relief, his eyes did not roam her body as Dagonet changed the bandages on her wound, though he did glance at the nasty looking gash across her side.

"You'll have quite a scar there," he commented, "and quite a story to tell."

"Oh, not a very interesting one. Only a Woad scout that I hadn't noticed and a stray arrow meant to take down my horse. I always do have the worst of luck," Helena immediately responded before Arthur could say anything more. She really did know what she was doing with all of this. Livia was counted among the impressed audience.

Unbeknownst to her, there were several more audience members just beyond the doorway, one of which was holding a very peculiarly carved arrow they had pulled out of the girl only five days before. An arrow that was not from the Woads, nor the Saxons. No. Tristan had never seen an arrow quite like this before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

**Author's Note: **Thanks to **LadyOfThePlains, Readerfreak 10, LegolasIsMine, janell, Xanthe Corvinus and Mookie Moodoo** (you gotta tell me how you came up with that name) for reviewing. And here's the moment you've all been waiting for...

EDIT: Sorry if you guys who have this story on alert get another email about this chapter, but **penscratch **pointed out to me that I made a mistake (can you believe I screwed up the twins near the end) and I wanted to go back and fix it so it doesn't confuse anyone. No other changes were made.

Chapter Three

Arthur knew there was something about these girls that they weren't telling him. In fact, he was almost positive that he wouldn't have known even if it wasn't for Helena's gift with artful distractions. Two days had passed since she had awoken, two days in which he had spent several hours speaking with her, and the entire time he hadn't gleaned any information about her whatsoever. In fact, if anything, Arthur was sure that he knew less about her now than he did upon first meeting her. For a while he had thought about attempting to speak with Livia instead, but the young woman was spending an inordinate amount of time within her own bedchambers and had requested not to be disturbed unless it was by her twin, so that idea was immediately shut down.

But if anything, the thing that truly gave away the fact that there was something he didn't know was Tristan's silence on the whole subject. Of all of his knights, it was Tristan that could read people the best, and he didn't offer an opinion unless he was sure of it. So when he refused to condone or condemn the sisters, it was proof enough for Arthur that something needed to be done. He needed to find out everything he could to see if these young women were going to become a danger to his fortress, and he was going to find it out even if he had to force it out of Helena.

When he had come to this earth-shattering conclusion, it had been nearly midnight, but for some reason Arthur still found himself walking the corridors to the empty room where Bedivere slept when he was still alive. Within, he knew, lay the answer to every question that he had over the past week. Every doubt, every belief could be assuaged or strengthened just by walking through that doorway to meet what was on the other side. Taking a deep breath, Arthur pushed open the door.

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but he certainly didn't think he'd find Helena up and out of bed, sitting near the fire on the cold flagstones with Dagonet, drinking and talking. Of all of his knights, Dagonet was the quietest. He was the kind-hearted killer who barely said a word when he wasn't working. So to see him sitting on the floor enjoying a drink with a young woman he probably knew no better than one of the bar maidens really meant something to Arthur. This girl certainly had an ability to get everyone one her side, that was for sure.

"Oh, hello Arthur," she greeted him, looking over her shoulder. She wasn't wearing anything but a long white nightgown with a blanket draped around her, no doubt Dagonet's doing, and when the firelight shone on her face, she looked almost angelic. For an instant, Arthur immediately told himself that there was no need to confront this girl about anything and that she was just some innocent young woman who had been hit by a Woad's arrow, one out of a probable million. Then, he shook the thought off, reminding himself that he had a fortress to protect which he couldn't do if he was harboring dangerous people within.

Dagonet nodded his greeting to Arthur.

_Damn, if only he wasn't here, this would go a lot smoother. _

"I need to speak with Helena alone for a moment, Dagonet. Could I possibly steal her from you?" the words had left Arthur's lips before his brain had fully formed them, and he was immediately surprised by how easily it had come out. Dagonet looked slightly surprised by the request, but nodded his acceptance and rose despite the fact, exiting the room without another word. Helena moved to rise, but Arthur signaled that she could remain seated.

"What is it Arthur? Is there something wrong?" she asked, sounding bewildered and more innocent than she should have. The idea that she was a bad person kept sounding ridiculous to Arthur, who remained standing in front of her, but several feet away barely in the light cast by the fire.

"I'm sorry for coming to you so late, but I feel we must discuss something," he started and saw the curiosity in her eyes begin to dim the slightest bit to something else. What was it? Worry? Arthur couldn't help but wish Tristan was with them, as the man could tell him exactly what the girl was feeling in a glance.

"It's no trouble, Arthur, but please, sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?" Arthur waved off Helena's attempts to be hospitable, noting how quickly she had moved into another topic, attempting to brush past what he wished to ask her without his noticing.

" I know that you and your sister aren't telling us something. Now listen, Helena, I hate to do this, but you must tell me everything or I'll have to send for some of the Roman soldiers to escort you out of the fortress," Arthur replied, sounding exactly how he felt: as if every inch of him wished not to say it. He settled on the floor across from her, watching her carefully. For a moment, Helena only gaped at him.

"I– we... well, it all started when– ," Helena's stammering was immediately cut off by a piercing cry that made them both jump. For a moment, Arthur just sat there, not understanding what was going on. Helena jumped to her feet, and before he knew what was happening, she had run out of the room on unsteady feet with a painful limp, and he was following after her.

It wasn't a long voyage that she led him on, and she burst into the room next door, her hands in fists as if she was going to fight someone off. Arthur expected to see a woman being attacked within, but when he realized that the only person inside was Livia, he stopped outside in the hallway, watching as the scene progressed before him. Tristan and Lancelot were both at his side a moment later, followed quickly by the rest of his knights, all but Bors who was no doubt still within the tavern.

Inside, Livia was screaming and crying, shouting unintelligible phrases as she attempted to fight off an invisible attacker. Arthur slowly entered the room, his men close behind, curious as to what would happen next. At first, Helena had attempted to come straight to her twin, but was tossed painfully to the side by the young woman with a strength that Arthur wouldn't have supposed of her. There was a bleeding scratch across her cheek, but it was superficial and didn't need any treatment. Now, the young woman was kneeling on the cold flagstones, her arms extended in a calming position, as she tried to coax her sister out of her cowering position in the corner.

"Livia... Livia, sweetie, you're just dreaming. It's just a dream Livia," she kept repeating it over and over, and her sister was visibly calming. "There's no one here that's going to hurt you. I'm not going to hurt you, Livia. Wake up, dear. Don't be afraid, it's just a dream, it's okay."

It was as if she was approaching a startled animal, the soothing tone, the non-defensive position. Arthur guessed that by the way that Helena was acting, she had done this many times before. Livia was visibly calming, her whimpers becoming less common, and she wasn't screaming anymore. There were scratches on her arms where she had clawed at herself, and her blonde hair was mussed as if she had been in a fight. She was reacting to her sister's voice, and Arthur could tell Livia was attempting to fight off the sleeping state and return to the land of consciousness.

"Livia, it's alright. Don't be afraid, darling. No one can hurt you when I'm here. I won't let them," Helena was still whispering comforts to her sister, who crawled across the floor towards her, tears streaming down her face. For a moment, Arthur thought she was going to attack, before she collapsed into Helena's arms, sobbing as if her heart had been broken.

"What in the hell just happened?" Gawain asked in confusion, his voice so low that only the knights could hear him. The others looked just as confused as he, watching as Helena rocked her sister back and forth in her arms, still whispering calming words as she did so. It seemed almost like a mantra of 'don't worry' and 'I won't let anyone hurt you'. It wasn't long before Livia fell asleep in her sister's arms, and Helena stopped rocking her, instead turning to the knights with faint traces of worry in her blue eyes. Arthur realized that at that moment, the young woman looked an infinite amount of years older than she was, and couldn't help but wonder how long she had been doing this sort of thing.

"Please help me put Livia back into her bed," she asked, and Lancelot immediately stepped forward, lifting the small girl easily and lowering her to the bed she had thrown herself out of. Like a worrying mother, Helena tucked her sister in, kissing her on the forehead, before turning back to the knights, all of whom were still crowded together and looking genuinely confused.

"I suppose there's something you'll be wanting to hear," she said, a hint of sorrow in her voice.

"We can wait until tomorrow if–," Arthur started, and was immediately cut off.

"No, I'm ready to tell it, we'll do it now," she interrupted him, holding herself straight, though it seemed to cause her some pain.

"Follow me," he replied with a nod, and led her out of the doorway, followed closely by his men.

They were all seated around the round table not five minutes later, Bors having joined them when Arthur physically pulled him away from Vanora. Tristan seated himself between Bors and Gawain, grateful for the goblet of wine a servant set down before him, as he was beginning to think he was going to need it. While the men sat, Helena was not so eager to do so, and was only coaxed into resting by Dagonet's insistence that she would re-open her wound if she were not careful. She looked nervous and upset, which was a good way to describe how all of them were feeling as of late. After that strange episode with Livia, Tristan had a feeling nothing would be the same ever again.

"We've all gathered here to listen to what Helena here has to say, so I'd like you all to pay close attention, as I suppose she will not be so willing to tell it again, got it?" Arthur's voice was surprisingly awake, but he looked rather grave and weary. "Go on, Helena. Tell us what this is all about."

"It's a rather long story..." she started, but was immediately interrupted by Bors.

"Well then you better hurry up and tell it to us. It's too early in the morning for whatever feminine wiles you've cooked up to keep us from hearing this," he said in irritation and Helena glared at him.

"Do you want me to tell it or not?" when Bors remained silent, she continued. "As I was saying, it's a rather long story, owing to the fact that all of Livia and my troubles started the very instant we were born. My grandmother once told me such troubles were written in the very stars for us, but for Livia and I, it was more like they were engraved. We were born nineteen years ago, but on different days. I was born on All Hallow's Eve, and my twin was born two minutes later on All Saint's Day.

"My mother, as I told you earlier was Sarmatian. What I didn't mention was the fact that before she had come to Briton, she had worked as a mystic, earning money from the Roman nobles who would pay for the novelty of having their fortunes read. And she was truly talented. She could tell you your future forwards, backwards and upside down and every moment would come true exactly as she foretold it. That was how she met my father, a Roman soldier who had traveled through Sarmatia on a search for new knights for the Romans. When my sister and I were born, it was Livia who my mother favored from the beginning. I always thought it was because she was younger, but then I realized it was because there was something different about Livia. Something that my mother refused to tell me of, because she thought I would become jealous."

"Your mother was a mystic?" Galahad sounded incredulous and Tristan could see the brief look of annoyance flash on Helena's face before she immediately covered it up.

"Yes, she was," the girl confirmed. The blanket she had been wearing around her shoulders slid down, revealing her bare shoulders. Tristan couldn't help but notice a scar running across her collarbone, and was curious as to how it got there. "One of the best Sarmatian mystics in existence, she was taught by her mother, and she by hers before her and so on and so forth throughout time.

"While my mother kept Livia locked up in doors all day, it was I who helped my father run the colony he had been assigned by the Pope. When people came upon hard times, we would be out there in the fields with them, attempting to make the most out of their crop. He was a good man, and a good leader. But he couldn't hold his liquor. One night he and I were sharing a campfire when he let it slip to me about mother being a mystic, something I hadn't known about. From what he had told me, I realized that my sister was one in a long line of women who could see the past, the present and the future."

"You've got to be kidding me," Lancelot sounded fairly annoyed. "You've got us all out of bed so early in the morning to feed us this shit? I'm going back to sleep."

"Not so fast, Lancelot," Arthur warned the knight, who was glaring at him. Arthur turned back to Helena."What happened tonight? Why did Livia behave so strangely?"

"She was having a vision, a particularly violent one from what I could tell. If we're lucky, she should wake up by tomorrow, but there's a chance that she won't remember what she saw. When she has them so bad, she sometimes blocks them out."

"Well doesn't she know how to control it?" Dagonet asked it this time, and everyone in the room looked faintly surprised by his speaking up.

"Not really," Helena replied after a moment. "According to what she's told me, which really isn't as much as I'd like, she hears everything all the time. The visions are only when she comes in close contact with another person or when the matter it particularly urgent. Our mother died before she could complete her training, but I'm getting a little ahead of myself now.

"By the time Livia and I were sixteen, mother had already established a little business where people would come to our house from miles away to hear their futures from Livia. Mother had always told her to lie if a person's life was going to go badly so their clientele didn't get angry, but Livia rarely followed her advice. One day a strange man from out of the country wandered to our home and asked Livia for his fortune. She gave it to him, but it wasn't a happy future he was facing. His wife would die while giving birth to a child that wasn't his, his men would hate him, his people would fall to ruin. The man didn't believe Livia, but he paid and left for wherever he had come from. We never did catch his name. A year later, strange things began to happen around our manor. Animals were turning up inexplicably dead, and then people. One morning, I returned from gathering herbs to find my father stabbed in the throat. I had been only a few minutes too late, his blood was still warm. But the murderer was nowhere to be found."

The incredible look of pain on her face was enough to make a twinge of resentment for whoever had murdered her father run through Tristan, and his fists clenched around his goblet tensely. For some reason, he found himself hanging on to every word that Helena said, though he couldn't say whether it was because of genuine interest or because she was a good story teller. He noticed the paleness of her face and the slight trembling of her hands and wondered what would happen next. Before he could ask her to continue, however, Helena began speaking again as if she had read his mind.

"My father– my father was a very good man. One of the best. I have never met a Roman I liked other than he. He was good natured... and pure... and he always knew how to make me smile. Don't get me wrong, my mother was a fairly good caretaker as well, but she... well she was..."

"Inattentive," Tristan filled in the blank for her, and Helena nodded, her lips pursed slightly.

"She was so stuck on making Livia into a great mystic that she rather forgot that she had twins. But my father and the farm hands who raised me filled in the gaps well enough," she replied with a regretful look into her lap that made Tristan pity her.

He didn't remember his parents well enough to know whether or not they preferred his siblings over himself or anything of the sort, he had been too young when he had been taken to become knight by the Romans. But he did remember that horrible feeling in the pit of a child's stomach when their parent chooses one of their siblings over them. Much like being punched in the stomach. It was odd that such a sensation was so utterly rememberable to him when he couldn't even remember what color his father's eyes were, or whether his mother shined when she smiled. Tristan imagined Helena had felt that most, if not all of the time, when she saw her mother and twin together. The pain of not being able to do what her sister could. The jealousy that Livia could so easily steal her mother's attention away while Helena was cast aside to live like a stable boy and work as hard as her father's men. For that brief moment that Livia looked down into her lap in that manner, Tristan could see all of those feelings on her face. Somehow she became all the more human to him when he saw that, something that made him feel a little odd in her presence. Before, he had placed her as a noble girl that was truly _noble_. Willing to do things for her sister that a man wouldn't do for his king. He had placed her on a pedestal. But when he saw that look on her face, for that very brief instant, it was as if she was on his level, as if she had stood right beside him while they were children and he was feeling that upset jealousy. The odd feeling, he realized, was a connection that he felt between them. It made Tristan shift uncomfortably in his seat at the idea that he could connect himself with such a person when he had so effortlessly disconnected himself from everyone else upon leaving Sarmatia.

"My mother died not long after my father, murdered in my sister's presence. Livia had never told anyone what happened in the room that day, and no matter how often I ask her, she refuses to tell me. Both of my parents were buried, and for a while I played at running the manor while I could, but of course we could not stay."

"Why not?" asked Arthur, who had been listening intently, as if fascinated by every word that escaped her lips.

"Well I was not an heiress to the manor, of course. I was the oldest child, but I'm a female, not eligible to inherit. The property and all of the fields surrounding it went to a cousin of mine, who kicked Livia and I out before he even reached the border of the lands. We weren't out a day when we were attacked by the people who so easily had made my life into a living hell. Men dressed in dark clothing with cloaks. They took Livia and I to a strange place, but they could not tell the difference between us. They kept us for months, attempting to find out which one was the mystic and which was the useless twin. I refused to tell, and kept Livia from saying anything," she visibly winced at the memory, her face becoming drawn, as if she were trying to remove herself from the room and the memory without actually leaving.

"What happened to you?" Gawain had never been very good at taking cues not to say something, if not directed by her body language than by the fact that Arthur and Lancelot were both shooting him warning looks. When Helena looked up at him, Tristan could see the hardness that had replaced that moment of weakness moments before.

"That is not something I shall ever utter in any of your presences," she replied, her voice harsh and steely. "Even my sister does not know what happened there, and I will protect her from the knowledge for as long as I shall live."

"Who were the men?" Lancelot asked. "Romans?"

"I don't know where they came from. But I know _who_ they came from. They were followers of the foreign man who had come to see my sister, whose wife really had died in childbirth, giving him a child that wasn't his own. From what I was led to understand, he killed the child, gathered together a bunch of lunatics and decided he would hunt down and kill my sister. But the legion is growing every day, getting larger and larger. Many of the followers are Catholics, who are prejudiced against my sister, believing her a witch. We've been roaming the countryside for ages now, attempting to escape their grasp, trying to find somewhere we can settle down in," she seemed to have finished her story, but Tristan could probably climb through the gaps that she had left within. However, they had been given enough information to get a feeling for what they were dealing with.

"I see..." Arthur seemed thoughtful, meeting Tristan's eyes for a moment before turning back to the girl by his side. "Tristan will escort you back to your room. I ask that you do not leave it until my men and I have decided what is to be done about it."

"Yes, sir," Helena replied, standing with a slight grimace on her face as her stitches pulled with the movement.

Tristan rose as well, knowing that Arthur and the others would hold off much of the discussion until he returned to them. He walked around the table and took the girl by the elbow, though not very roughly, and led her out of the doorway. She didn't resist too much, though he slowed down considerably to keep up with the way she was walking. Considering that she was raised by men, he figured the lady-like steps she was taking were only a result of her wound and an attempt to keep from pulling it more than she should, though he'd be surprised if she hadn't ripped out a few stitches bolting to her sister's room the way she had.

"Can we stop for a moment?" she asked as they neared a bench, and Tristan nodded patiently, allowing her to sit on the stone seat, standing in front of her to convey the idea that they weren't going to spend long there. She slumped slightly in the seat, her face in her hands, and for a moment, Tristan wondered if she was crying. However, Helena didn't seem the type, so he just waited patiently for her to stop whatever she was doing and explain herself.

"I can't believe I just told that to you all," she muttered after a moment, sounding tired and distressed. "My sister and I have kept that between us for so long I was starting to thing we were going to go mad."

Tristan didn't say anything in response, just watched her closely, curious as to what she would do next. Helena's hands dropped from her face and she looked up at him, her blue eyes intense in the moonlight, her blonde hair a halo of white. She looked like the angels that Arthur often spoke of. She didn't look willful or angry or anything that he expected of her. Instead, she had a rather pleading look in her eyes.

"Will you say nothing? Are you just a statue that stands before me, or is there a man in there somewhere?" she asked, her voice so quiet that the wind nearly carried it away before Tristan could hear it.

"There is nothing to say," he replied flatly, and immediately regretted it upon seeing the faint shine of tears in her eyes. However, they immediately disappeared and were replaced by a blank look that was rather unnerving.

"I can find the way back to my bedchambers, you can go back now," she spat, and began walking away from him.

"Wait!" he called, his hand shooting out and barely grasping her slender wrist before he knew what he was doing. Helena stopped walking and turned slightly, her gaze flickering from his hand on her wrist to his face with a wary uncertainty. Did she think he was going to attack her? "What I meant was that there was nothing that _could_ be said. Your story is a remarkable one."

"So you don't believe me? Is that it?" she attempted to wrench her wrist from his grasp, but Tristan held on tightly. "Let go of me, Tristan. I must look after my sister."

"Like you have every other day of your life?" he was so put off by her anger towards him that the words fell out of his mouth before he could think them over. "At this point, I highly doubt it's your sister that needs someone to look after them. Tell me, Helena, when's the last time that you actually let yourself live? The last time you went somewhere without Livia, and didn't think about her the whole time? Can you even name a moment when that happened? A moment where you weren't concerned of her well-being over your own?"

"Stop it, Tristan. Just let me go," she was pleading with him now, weakly attempting to remove her wrist from his grasp. "Let me go, Tristan."

"You're a living being as well, Helena. It would do you well to remember that," he hissed before she managed to successfully disengage herself from his grasp.

For a moment, their eyes were interlocked, the eerie darkness of his own lost in the ocean blue depths of her eyes. Tristan took a hesitant step towards her, his heart pounding in his chest, unable to blink for fear that when he did it would turn out she was only an illusion. There was a clattering sound, and Tristan was immediately distracted, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of an intruder. When he found none, he turned back to Helena. Rather, to where Helena had been a moment before. He saw the flash of her luminescent hair around the corner, but didn't bother following. It would just scare her off if he did so. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked back towards the Round Table room, unsure as to what had just happened. When he entered, all of his comrades were staring at him expectantly.

"I believe her," was the only thing he could say.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

**Author's Note: **Thanks everyone who's reviewed! I love you guys. We're getting some action in this chapter and a little humor. Reviews are wonderful, a little like drugs or cookies.

Chapter Four

Ever since Arthur had told her his decision to allow herself and Livia stay at his fortress, Helena had barely left her room except to visit with Livia or sneak off to the private bathhouse to soak and brood. She hadn't seen Tristan since their strange encounter after she had poured out most of her story to the knights and Arthur, and while Helena's head told her this was a good thing, her heart was aching badly. She couldn't seem to get the look in his eyes out of her head. That incredible hunger and longing that she had never seen so clearly as she had in his eyes when he stared into her own. Her feet had been rooted to the spot, her heart pounding, and she knew that as he moved forward he was going to kiss her right then and there and out in the open, and she knew that she wasn't going to stop him. But the moment that sound had rung out so clearly in the courtyard, the magic had been broken, and she had lost her guts. All that Helena could think was that she couldn't kiss him, that he couldn't possibly like her, nor she him. And so she had fled.

Now she sat in her sisters room, perched in the window, looking out while she distractedly sewed a tear in the hem of one of Livia's dresses. She was wearing a soft white gown with a long, trailing skirt which had been provided to her by Arthur and delivered to her via maid that morning. Apparently, they were to have company later in the day and he didn't want the visitors to see her walking around dressed like a man. The maid had even talked her into braiding her waist length hair back after it dried from her bath so that it wasn't worn 'freely like a savage's', which had been the maid's exact words. She had actually appreciated the little present, as her scant wardrobe could only be washed and patched up so many times before it was just a pile of thread at the bottom of her bag.

"Do you feel well, Lena?" Livia asked from where she was reading in a chair in the corner. Ever since her attack that night, Livia seemed to be doing much better, though she refused to tell Helena what she had seen. Helena supposed it had something to do with her, and decided against badgering Livia about it. Perhaps it was something she didn't want to know.

"I'm fine," she replied, turning away from the window to offer her sister a small smile. "Just a little tired. I suppose sewing is more boring than I remember it being."

Livia laughed and closed her book, setting it on the bed before swiftly gliding across the floor to sit on the other side of the window sill next to her sister. She was wearing one of her fine gowns that their mother had specially made for her, a pale blue one that brought out the color of her eyes beautifully. If Helena didn't love her sister so much, she would've been jealous of how their looks seemed to suit her so much better.

"Your wound doesn't pain you at all?" Livia asked, and Helena shook her head 'no'. "And you aren't feverish? You don't have a cold or anything?"

"No," Helena replied, laughing. "What is it? Do I truly look so awful in a dress that you fear I may be dying from something?"

"No of course not, you look absolutely beautiful. It's just that I noticed you haven't really been leaving our rooms lately," Livia said with a shrug. "I was worried maybe something was wrong."

"No, I've just been tired," Helena assured her. She hadn't told Livia of her encounter with Tristan the night Livia had her vision, not wanting to cause more tension than there already was. However, Helena didn't doubt her sister probably already knew all about it, if it wasn't from gossip, then it was from a vision. It was difficult to have secrets from her twin, especially since she could sense nearly all of them.

_All but one, _her brain reminded her. _All but what happened when the men took you out of your prison cell that night. You've been hiding that so long it seems like it never happened. _

Helena ignored her wandering thoughts, and turned her attention back to her twin, who was watching her quietly. They had never had the relationship that other twins had. They lacked the closeness and consistent love that Helena had observed on others, but instead had a different sort of relationship. They depended on one another in a way, but it wasn't in the emotional way that other twins needed one another. In fact, Helena and Livia rarely confided anything in each other. Livia had preferred to tell her friends when they were teenagers, her fame as a mystic making such people easy to procure. Helena had always just kept it inside and let it melt away after a little while, or build up until she had one little temper tantrum and then went on with her day as if nothing had happened.

In fact, a lot of the times, Helena wondered at the idea that she and Livia were sisters at all. Yes, they looked exactly alike, and shared the same parents. But it was as if their relationship was more of Livia's dependence on Helena to keep her alive, and Helena's dependence on Livia to stay alive. It certainly couldn't be a healthy relationship they had.

"It's lovely out. We should go riding today, since your wound isn't paining you at all. Galahad showed me some of the better horses in the stables, and you need to get some fresh air. You're starting to look a little pale," Livia's voice was light, as if she was trying to rid Helena of the dark mood she had settled in, and Helena appreciated her sister's efforts. Perhaps it would be a good idea to go out for a little while. Staying so close to Hadrian's Wall meant that they would most likely be perfectly safe from Woads or any other attackers unless the men in black cloaks had managed to find them again.

"Yes, let's," Helena nodded, allowing Livia to take her hand and lead her away, the dress she had been sewing falling to the floor in a heap of silk.

Livia led her by the hand through the crowds of Roman guards and the dwellers of the village within the fortress, navigating rather poorly as they had to turn around more than once. Finally, they reached the huge stables, where Helena met the stable master, a rather funny man named Jols who brought out the black stallion she had arrived on when she requested it. Helena was more than surprised when Livia decided on a tall chestnut gelding rather than the pretty mare they had stolen in order to make it to Hadrian's Wall, but didn't question her sister's judgement. She was happy to note that she hadn't seen a single knight since she left her room, and was hoping it would stay that way.

On horseback they carefully wove their way through the crowds, and finally reached the field between the fortress and Hadrian's wall. There was a light breeze, and the sun was bright, and once Helena was out there, she was more than pleased that she had consented to going out on a ride. She clicked her tongue, and her horse immediately began cantering, tossing his head rambunctiously. Livia easily caught up with her, the horse she was riding was more than adequate, and Helena could easily see why her sister had chosen it. It was a graceful beast as it cantered alongside her. The two sped across the field, racing and playing, when Helena caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. She slowed her horse down to a trot and her eyes scanned the woods that now surrounded them, worried.

"What is it?" Livia's voice was appropriately hushed, something Helena was grateful for. Her eyes kept scanning the trees, trying to detect the source of the movement, but found nothing.

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm being paranoid. I thought I – ," she was immediately cut off by an arrow flying past her nose and hitting something beyond. She turned her head in shock, her eyes immediately finding the Woad concealed in the trees, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at something beyond. Helena turned her head in the direction he was looking and saw that through the line of trees was a road, and the arrow that had nearly hit her had hit a man dressed in the metal armor of the Roman guard, apparently traveling with a caravan of some sort.

"Oh my–," Livia was cut off by Helena grasping her upper arm. Her eyes were stern and she fixated her twin with a strong stare.

"I need you to ride back to the fortress as quickly as possible. See if you can summon some sort of help. I don't believe Arthur and the others are there, but there are still some Roman guardsmen lingering about. Get them out of their seats and get them ready. I think we're in for some trouble," she commanded her twin, who looked unconvinced.

"What about you? What are you going to do, yell at the Woads until they go away?" Livia hissed back. Helena sighed, dropping her hand from the grip on her reigns and felt it hit something wooden fashioned to her saddle. When she looked down she found her bow and a quiver of arrows still attached to it from before.

"No, I'm going to do one better," she said decidedly. "Now get back to the fortress, now!"

Livia obediently galloped off in the direction they had come from, and Helena was fairly certain she wouldn't be hurt by the Woads. Not because they were a kind and gentle folk, but because she wasn't what they wanted to kill. They wanted whoever was in that caravan, most likely the people that would be visiting Arthur. And Helena realized that she was going to have to do something about it. Turning her horse, she headed straight through the woods, towards the road the caravan was traveling on. They had halted mid-step, the guard alert and scanning the forests, trying to pin-point where the arrow had come from.

When Helena had come bolting through the woods without thinking first, she had nearly been impaled on at least four men's swords before they realized she was just a pretty Roman girl on her horse. However, she didn't have time to introduce herself. They needed to get moving.

"Quickly now, the Woads are in this part, you must get moving!" she commanded, just as an arrow narrowly missed her. "Let's go!"

After a moment, the caravan immediately began moving again, though much more quickly than they had been before. Helena detached her bow from her saddle, stringing in an arrow and aiming it towards the woods, watching carefully for any signs of movement. She only managed to duck just in time before the volley of arrows began flying at them, taking out several guardsmen. Helena sat up and let off three arrows in rapid succession, and judging by the shouts of surprise, they had all hit their marks.

"Who are you?" one of the Roman's asked, firing alongside her.

"I'm from the fortress. We need to get you there safely. Is there anyway we can leave the carriage behind? We'd travel much faster without it," she asked, ducking another arrow. Around them, most of the guards were already dead, but the Woads didn't dare get close, though she couldn't figure out why. She shot off another two arrows and took out two more archers before lowering her bow again.

"I've been saying that the whole journey, but the Cardinal demands that we keep it, the bastard," he replied, then grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to curse in front of you milady."

"It's alright," she replied with a shrug, knocking in another arrow, but not firing it. Another volley came through, several of which pierced the carriage that most of the guardsmen had lined themselves in front of, killing them. In the distance, she could see several horses riding towards them, and she wondered if perhaps her sister had already gotten back to the fortress to alert the guard. That was, until she spotted a hawk circling over them. No. This was Arthur's doing, not Livia's.

"Faster!" she shouted, urging them on as another volley of arrows took out three guardsmen. "Go faster, or your lives will be forfeit!"

"Faster, you idiots!" the guard she had been speaking with shouted, and Helena was irritated to see they only sped up once he ordered them to. Already, Arthur and the knights had caught up with them, and it wasn't until then that the Woads began to flood out of the woods, popping out of places that had previously appeared empty. Helena was perturbed to see that she had actually ridden past a great deal of them when she had headed towards the caravan. She couldn't figure out why she hadn't been attacked.

However, she didn't have time to ponder it when the Woads were already upon them, surrounding the guards and desperately trying to get to the carriage. Helena shot arrows at them rapidly, taking many out and stealing several quivers worth of arrows off of the enemy's back as she wound her way around the rampaging Woads. She could already see Bors and Dagonet taking out quite a few of them, and not far away, Lancelot was engaged in a graceful encounter with a Woad with a leaf tattoo covering half of his face. Helena could hear Arthur shouting orders above the fray, though she couldn't see him, and she was sure Tristan was nearby though she wasn't sure where.

Helena watched in terror as a Woad charged her horse, figuring she was done for as her hands fumbled to string an arrow into her bow, when she watched the man get tackled by another Woad, who shouted at him in their strange language and proceeded to engage Gawain in battle. In fact, there wasn't a single Woad coming anywhere near her, and Helena wondered if they were being prejudiced against her since she was a woman. Then again, she had heard many stories of the Woads killing Roman women from the towns they invaded. They had no reservations about murder, and Helena didn't understand why not a one laid a hand on her.

During her musings, Helena's eyes fixed on a very familiar shape surrounded by dead Woads, but still being charged by many more. Tristan fought with incredible skill, all of his movements fluid and continuous, moving from one Woad to the next without pause, as if he were dancing. It was a devastatingly beautiful and rather frightening sight, and for a moment, all of Helena's attentions were fixated on watching Tristan as he fought. Until she saw movement beyond him in the trees, movement that most certainly wasn't friendly. Without even thinking about it first, Helena aimed her arrow and fired swiftly, the arrow sailing through the air in a graceful arc before hitting its mark. A Woad fell out of the tree dead, a strung bow in his hand, the arrow within meant for Tristan. The knight didn't seem to notice, however, which suited Helena just fine.

Breaking her eyes away from him, she took out a Woad that was about to attack Lancelot, who nodded his thanks to her before killing another with a clean slice of his twin blades. Two more died under her deft hands, one which was attempting to sneak up on the inattentive Galahad, and another that was getting dangerously close to the carriage. By then, a scant few Woads remained, and a scant few Roman guards. Amongst the survivors was the one that Helena had conversed with earlier, who looked as if he wanted to say something to her, but was caught up in a conversation by Arthur, who looked rather serious.

"Livia?" addressed Bors, who was sheathing the blades he had been fighting with.

"Helena," she corrected him, and took a perverse pleasure on the shock that immediately filled everyone's faces. "What?"

"You look exactly alike," Gawain murmured, eyes shining.

"That usually happens with twins," Helena replied, trying not to laugh at him. "Why are you all staring at me like that?"

"We were starting to think you were just a figment of our imagination," Bors cut into the silence quickly, obviously saying the first reason that came to him. "Haven't seen you in a while, girl."

"I've been ill," she lied quickly. "Is everyone alright?"

"Yes, quite fine, thanks to you," Lancelot replied, nodding to her thankfully. "You saved my neck, probably more than once. Where'd you learn to shoot an arrow like that?"

"Oh, my father's scout used to take me hunting with him. You learn a few useful things like that," she answered with a smile, trying not to blush from the compliment. She had always been rather proud of her skills with a bow and arrow, seeing as she couldn't lift a sword if her life depended on it, and she had never been taught to fight with daggers. She pointed to the lone carriage. "Is this our guest?"

"Yes, actually," Arthur replied, as if he had forgotten about the carriage, and headed towards it, opening the door. A man stepped out dressed in full cardinal regalia, his neck hung with a heavy golden cross with rubies set in it, his fingers displaying jewels the size of walnuts. He glittered almost obscenely in the sunlight streaming through the trees. Helena fought the urge to smirk. She had never seen _women _wear so much jewelry, let alone a man of the cloth. How utterly ridiculous.

The cardinal seemed to be surveying each of them before his eyes stopped on her, still mounted upon her black stallion, who was impatient to go out on another run, still excited from the fighting. It took most of Helena's will to keep the horse in check, but the second the cardinal looked at her, she rather wanted to run off as well.

"My, my, my, what a lovely group you've gathered, Artorius," the cardinal said, his eyes still fixated upon Helena, who maneuvered her horse backwards to get farther away from him. She felt inexplicably uncomfortable near him, for herself, as well as for Livia. If the man heard her twin was a mystic, she would no doubt be burnt as a heretic.

"These are my men, Tristan, Bors, Dagonet, Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad. And the young lady is... Helena," Arthur seemed stuck on what to say about her, or how to give reason for his presence, and Helena was all out of lies, finding that she couldn't think of one that would make sense.

"Helena? What a beautiful name. You are a Roman, I presume?" the cardinal asked, and Helena shrugged impassively.

"Sure," she replied, though it was a half-lie.

"And what are you doing out here in the midst of so much trouble, my dear?" the cardinal had approached her and literally pried her right hand off of the saddle and taken it into his own, stroking it softly. Helena tensed, and winced every time she felt him touch her, a fact that was not lost upon the knights.

"I... well, uh, Arthur and I got into a quarrel this morning because I wanted to join him to greet you, and he said it was too dangerous so I followed him out here without him knowing so I could apologize and greet you. I just happened to come across the caravan before he did," she blurted out the first excuse that came to mind. "I went out under the pretense of going hunting, and lucky I did, isn't it? I wouldn't have had my bow and arrows otherwise."

Much to Helena's relief, Arthur approached her on her other side, having mounted his horse, and stood protectively next to her. She didn't fail to see the false anger that he had quickly allowed his face to show.

"Yes, we will have to speak on this later, Helena. This is not the first time I've told you not to leave the fortress unguarded. You could get yourself killed," he said in mock-sternness, and Helena could see his green eyes shining merrily as he said it. "You vex me, woman."

"Not nearly as much as you vex me, Arthur," she replied, earning a smile from the man.

"And of what acquaintance are you with such a lovely young woman, Arthur? Brother and sister perhaps? But no, I believe your sisters are all still in Rome, aren't they?" the cardinal asked. He was still holding Helena's hand, and hadn't noticed her trying to pull herself out of his grasp. Luckily, Tristan had decided to steer his horse to her other side, pushing the cardinal in front of them, his dark gaze fixed on him in anger.

"She works for him," Lancelot answered the cardinal's query, noticing the tension between Tristan and the Roman. Helena caught the odd look in the cardinal's eyes, as if something had just dawned on him, though she didn't understand the implications.

"Yes, Arthur has been quite good to me. In exchange for my services, he allows myself and my sister to stay within his home," she added, her gratefulness for Arthur's kindness not faked a bit. They would most likely both be dead or imprisoned again if he hadn't agreed to take them in.

"Oh, I see," the cardinal was looking at her differently now, his gaze darting between Helena and Arthur suspiciously. Helena still didn't understand, and looked confused even as the man got back into the carriage, surrounded by the remnants of his guard and the knights, and they once again set off for the fortress. Lancelot and Arthur road alongside her now, Tristan taking the lead to keep a watch out for more Woads.

"Well congratulations, we were successful in convincing the cardinal that you're Arthur's concubine," Lancelot said with a devilish smirk, and Helena gaped at him.

"What on earth are you talking about. Me? Arthur's concubine? Is the cardinal mentally deficient? Or are you completely insane?" she asked, though her voice didn't raise above a whisper.

"No, I'm afraid Lancelot's quite right. But, it will probably keep him away for you for a while if he thinks we are sleeping together, though I cannot guarantee the same safety for your sister," Arthur replied, and Helena could almost hear him laughing at her, though he didn't do it out right.

"Serves me right for leaving my room," she muttered with a sigh. "Oh, I do hope Livia made it back to the fortress safely enough."

"Why? Was she with you?" Galahad spoke up this time, looking surprised.

"Yes, we were out on a ride when I saw the Woads attacking the caravan. I sent her back for... oh dear, we may be meeting up with a legion of disgruntled Roman guardsmen in a few minutes," she muttered, looking slightly worried. The knights laughed outright, and Lancelot patted her on the back reassuringly.

"Don't worry, those men wouldn't get off of their asses unless they were certain they'd get to watch us die in the process," he assured her. "They most certainly wouldn't ride out to help protect us. We've got a bit of a rivalry."

"Why? Because you're Sarmatian?" she asked, curious.

"Partially, but it's mostly because we're cooler," Gawain stepped in, and Helena smirked.

"And better looking," added Galahad.

"And much more fertile," roared Bors, and they laughed, including Helena who recalled Livia telling her about his twelve un-named children.

Now that they weren't locked in the round table room with her at two o'clock in the morning, all of the knights that she had met previously seemed much more friendly to her, influenced, she supposed, by Livia herself. Her sister was rather irresistible to most people, while Helena tended to be the one that sat in the corner at festivities and was never asked to dance. She was fine with her position in those situations. She had never been one for large crowds anyway, she found them noisy and uncomfortable.

"How long will the cardinal be staying with us?" she asked out of sheer curiosity.

"A month or so until it can be arranged for him to return to Rome," Arthur replied, then leaned to whisper in her ear. "Until then, I suppose we'll have to put up with him. You aren't allowed to hide in your room anymore, seeing as he finds you agreeable and would seek you out regardless, understand?"

"Only if I have someone else with me at all times, I refuse to be alone with that man," she replied. "Man of the cloth or no, I trust him only as far as I can throw him."

"A wise choice," Gawain commended her. "Men of his 'situation' don't often pay as close attention to following their own laws as they do to all the other people who are disobeying them."

"And people wonder why we don't like Romans," Galahad said with a sigh, looking up at the sky thoughtfully.

"Because they've all got rods up their asses, that's why," Bors replied vulgarly, then swiftly apologized upon remembering that Helena was Roman.

"Oh, don't apologize, I quite agree with you. The whole lot of them act as if they were declared emperor of the universe, I can't stand the society types," she answered him, a slight smile on her face. "Besides, I'm not completely Roman. It's Arthur who ought to receive the apology."

"No, I'm quite used to it by now. I just insult Sarmatians once a month for good measure and get over it," he replied, and Helena laughed at him.

"Well that's hardly fair, for your men certainly have the bigger egos. That single insult probably pains them much more than the hundreds they must deliver every day do you," she joked. "I imagine they must badger you about it like old women until you apologize."

"You're quite right," Arthur agreed. "Especially Galahad."

"I'll second that," Gawain volunteered. "Galahad is the most whiny of all of us, you'll see that soon, milady."

"Hey, I'm not whiny!" Galahad interjected incredulously. "I never whine! You guys are always on my backs just because I'm the youngest..."

When he realized he was whining, he immediately stopped talking and just scowled at all of them as they laughed at him. Helena had to admit that even though she was now seen as a concubine by the cardinal, a rumor that would no doubt spread throughout the fortress for the next few days until she didn't have a moment of rest, she was glad she had decided to go on the horseback ride. For once she really could ascertain the characters of Arthur's knights, and she was glad to see that she found all of them rather enjoyable.

All except one, of course, one that not even spared her a glance upon the end of the battle. Even when he had made the cardinal back up with his horse, he had not met her eyes when she tried to express her thanks. Helena didn't know what to make of Tristan, but she dearly wished that she could have something to form her opinion off of. The man was a blank slate, the only time he had showed emotions was right before they almost kissed, and when she had seen them it had been the most intense moment of her life, for she had never in her life seen emotions raging so wildly in one person's eyes.

"He's been in a bad mood lately," Lancelot explained, seeing Helena's gaze settle on Tristan's back, watching as his hawk circled above him before landing on his arm. "He was the first of us to support your staying, you know. But since that night, he's been rather irritable and off-putting. Well more than usual, at least."

"I can't imagine Tristan being anything other than completely placid," she replied flatly, her eyes breaking away from him to look at Lancelot as she spoke.

"Ah, I thought I heard you two arguing about something when he escorted you back to your room. He didn't say anything too harsh did he? Because I'll give him a good smack for you if he did," volunteered Bors, who had been listening in on their conversation.

"We all will," added Galahad in his usual youthful perkiness. Of all the knights, Galahad was the one that Livia spoke the most highly of, though Helena was suspicious that it was more due to his good looks rather than his heroics. He seemed too young to be killing people left and right. When Helena was anywhere near him, she felt terribly low-key and laid-back in comparison, though she was younger by him by at least two years.

"Oh, no. I was just being silly, expecting a real reply from him and got angry with him when I didn't get one," she replied, telling the basic truth, though she would never hint at how that scene played out exactly.

"Tristan's not very good with people, you'll have to excuse him," said Gawain. "Dagonet's just quiet, but Tristan... he can say a thousand words in one stare. And most of them are something like 'I'm going to kill you'."

"Yes, I can see that," Helena replied, and they laughed.

She didn't notice Tristan's head turn at the sound of her laughter, nor the rage that flashed upon his face for the briefest of seconds when he noticed Gawain put an arm around her shoulders as they road. By the time that Helena's eyes had found Tristan's form again, he had already turned ahead, fuming quietly as he road, though she didn't know it. However, she did notice the tension in his back, and the way he urged his horse to go faster.

_I wonder what's bothering him, _she thought, but shook off the idea that anything ever bothered Tristan, focusing instead on the conversation around her.

When Tristan turned back to glance at them again, he saw Lancelot give Helena a bit of a shove as they joked around that came dangerously close to knocking her out of the saddle. That was when he gripped the reigns so hard his knuckles turned white.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong. I _seriously _don't own King Arthur. Really. I promise. Swear, even. I mean, if I _did _own King Arthur, don't you think I'd be off playing with the knights?

**Author's Note: **I love the reviews, you guys. I know I really don't reply, but I got the oddest PM the other day so I gotta ask:

**Lily Angel of Darkness**: Finger thing? I know what you're talking about with Anne Boleyn and the six fingered man from the Princess Bride, but there isn't anything like that in _my _story. Perhaps you misread?

Chapter Five

When they all finally returned to the fortress, Helena found her sister attempting to forcefully make several guards go out and look for them. She jumped out of the saddle of the stallion and was immediately assaulted by her sister, who wrapped her arms around her tightly, almost cutting off all of Helena's oxygen. After she pried Livia away from her, she laughed at the harried look on her twin's face.

"You look more stressed out than I usually do. Did someone catch on fire? Was there a war? Did you accidentally rip another dress?" Helena's joking was cut off by the slightly dazed look in her sister's eyes, and realized that she was having a vision.

"Good Jesus, you killed so many," Livia muttered when she finally snapped back into reality not a moment later. "But you aren't hurt? How oddly lucky."

"Exactly as I was thinking. We'll speak more on it later," Helena agreed. "I see your attempt to rouse an army did not succeed, but all is well. We lost only a few guardsmen, not much else."

"A few guardsmen and a bit of Helena's dignity, mind you," Gawain had come up from behind them and settled an arm around Helena's shoulders comfortably. She knew the only reason he did it was because he was a great deal taller than she, and used the opportunity to lean on her as if she were a brick wall rather than a nineteen-year-old girl.

"What do you mean?" asked Livia, who looked confused.

"I'll tell you about it later," Helena promised, hoping her sister would drop it.

They conversed for a few minutes, listening to Gawain relate the entire battle, including Helena's heroics, though he managed to make it look like he had saved everyone's life on more than one occasion, and had added a part about Merlin running out from the forest and shouting a curse at him, but it didn't work because Gawain claimed he was 'impervious to curses'. Helena rolled her eyes at her sister when he wasn't looking, making Livia laugh, but didn't bother to correct him and remind him that she had been there and she was incredibly certain that at no time had Merlin jumped out and cursed anybody. By the end of the story, Gawain sounded almost godly in his abilities, while he managed to make the rest of the knights sound like incompetent weasels dressed in armor, especially when he started on about how Galahad and Dagonet had been crying because they were scared right before he saved them from a Woad that was 'at least ten feet tall'. It was amusing enough that Helena felt as if she were about to break a rib from holding back the laughter building up inside of her, and Livia looked as if she were in quite the same position.

Suddenly, a hand grasped Helena's upper arm and pulled her away from Gawain with a powerful tug, making Helena let out a yelp of surprise. She was surprised to find her face to face with Tristan, who began dragging her away from Gawain and Livia though no matter how loudly she asked what in the hell he thought he was doing, he wouldn't explain himself to her. Livia didn't do anything, just watched rather helplessly on as her sister was dragged away by the scout before turning to Gawain for an explanation, but all he did was shrug.

"Do you think he'll kill her?" Livia asked once Helena and Tristan rounded a corner out of their sight.

"I doubt it. Tristan's too noble to kill an innocent, I think," he replied passively, his attention completely focused on her. "Want to go get an ale?"

Livia glanced back in the direction her sister had disappeared in before turning back to him, nodding.

"Sure. I'm sure she'll be fine."

Helena had no idea what was going on as she was literally pulled through crowds of hundreds of people until she found herself inside of the stable, which was completely devoid of anyone, much to her surprise. Tristan was behaving oddly, and she couldn't help but see the anger brewing in his dark eyes, threatening to boil over at any moment. But she couldn't find a reason why he'd be angry with her. Was it because she had run off that night? Or perhaps because she had avoided him so long afterwards?

He pushed her against a wall, pressing her firmly enough that she knew better than to leave where he had positioned her, then began to pace up and down in front of the stalls, looking so distraught that it almost broke her heart. For a long while, she watched him pace and he said nothing, though every once in a while, he would stop and look at her as if he were going to say something, then shake his head and continue his pacing. Finally, she decided to break the silence.

"Tristan, what is all this?" she demanded, though she noticed how her voice didn't sound angry. He stopped pacing right in front of her, turning to her, his dark eyes boring in to her own as if he intended to read her soul. It made Helena incredibly uncomfortable.

"You– you shouldn't..." he stopped talking again, and was just looking at her now, his eyes rather confused looking, most likely mirroring the expression on her face.

"I shouldn't what? What, Tristan?" Helena tried to prompt him to continue, but it seemed to only irritate him as he stepped away from her, his eyes hardening considerably.

"You shouldn't let Gawain and Lancelot get too close to you," he warned her, and Helena gaped at him in surprise. He was acting so strangely because she had flirted a little with Gawain and Lancelot? What was all of this about?

"What are you talking about? Why shouldn't I?" she demanded, her voice losing the desperate softness it had previous held. Tristan was gradually becoming angrier, she noticed, and Helena wished she had something with her to protect herself with.

"God you're so– you're so stupid, you know that? Can't you tell that all they'll do is use you like a common whore and throw you out like used up rubbish? And you're... you're so..." he made a sound of frustration, and was pacing again. Helena didn't say anything. She was still unsure as to what was going on. "I can see what's going to happen to you already. You'll be stupid and you'll fall for one of them and when you get hurt by them, what are you going to do? Throwing up your skirts like a common bar wench..."

"Excuse me? Are you calling me a slut?" Helena was angry now, and she stepped away from the wall, her hands fisted at her sides. "I think I can judge characters by myself, thank you very much. And, yes, Lancelot and Gawain may not be the noblest men in the universe, but you're much, much worse Tristan. What you're doing right now, is far worse than jilting a lover. You're insulting your friends. Probably the only friends you have."

"You're such an idiot, you just don't get it, Helena!" he all but yelled at her in response, pushing her back against the wall. "You aren't some common bar wench! I will _not _have you sleeping with some womanizing knight! You're too good for that!"

"And _I _will not have you ordering me about as if I were your property!" Helena yelled back. "I am not yours to command, Tristan! And I will sleep with whomever I want, thank you very much!"

"Then you would... you would just go out and sleep with one of them, would you? Just get a good _fuck _out of them and get it over with!" his use of the vulgarity was to bother Helena, and it had worked considerably well.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'd do, Tristan," she hissed in sarcastic anger in return. "I'm just some _whore_. I'm so glad you've finally found me out. We could just have a quick thrust here as a prize if you'd like."

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Tristan, who was enraged even more than over her unwillingness to tell him that she wouldn't sleep with Gawain or Lancelot. When he pushed her back against the stable wall this time, it was harder than he meant to, and though it didn't visibly hurt her, he knew Helena would have bruises from this encounter. And a part of him didn't care.

"Then you're no better than a _common_, _disgusting, _wench. And to think I thought you were actually something special," he spat at her, and stormed out of the stables.

For a moment, Helena just stood there, stunned. One of her hands lay lightly on her chest, in which her heart was still fluttering quickly. She suddenly felt very cold, and rather weak. She wrapped her arms around herself and sunk down on to the floor of the stables, not caring that she'd probably ruin her dress in the process. It was then that she started crying, sitting there huddled on the floor, shivering violently and weeping.

It was in this position that Arthur found her five minutes later as he wandered in the stables to put away his horse's saddle and bridle. At first, he hadn't realized that it was her, and had though it was just one of the town girls crying over one of the stable boys, a common occurrence. However, when he recognized the blonde hair and white dress, he immediately felt his heart leap in his throat, and het down his saddle hurriedly, crouching on the ground in front of her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders.

"What? What is it? Are you hurt?" he asked, not sure what to do.

He had never been very good with women, especially not ones who were crying. So when she flung her arms around him and buried her face into his neck, Arthur was quite possibly the most uncomfortable that he'd ever been in a long time. But regardless of the fact, he held her for a little while, rocking her and whispering to her the way she had done with her sister several days before, his voice calm and soothing. About ten minutes later, Helena seemed to have come into the right mind and removed herself from him, still sniffling a little.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to throw myself at you like that," she apologized, sounding a little embarrassed. Arthur wiped the tears off of her face and smiled reassuringly.

"It's okay, Helena. Are you okay now? You aren't going to unexpectedly burst on me, right?" he asked, and she laughed a little, though so weakly that he could tell it was (rather poorly) faked. He changed his tone into a more serious one. "What happened? Did someone attack you?"

"Oh, no. Well, not really. It's nothing... don't worry about it Arthur," she rose from where she had been crouched and still wiping the tears off of her face, offered him a hand to help him stand as well. Arthur accepted it and rose as well, but he couldn't ignore the pure distress showing on her face.

"Come here," he said, and hugged her close to him. She was shaking like a leaf in autumn in his grasp, and he couldn't help but wonder what had happened. Was it one of the Roman guards? They often went out of their way to do something stupid, and if one of them had assaulted her, they would all pay the price. "I don't know what happened, and I doubt very much that you plan on telling me, but I promise you, everything will be okay. Whatever is plaguing you will go away, and if you ever need help taking care of it, I'm right here."

He held her at arms length, making sure she wasn't going to cry again, and wiping the remnants of the tears on her face. Once she had fully composed herself, he put a friendly arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the forehead.

"Come, my concubine, we've got to get you into something that'll have people talking behind their hands about you for the next few months and will make Lancelot drool so much he'll forget all about his liquor, which believe me, takes a lot," he said, gently guiding her out of the stables. Helena laughed weakly, leaning against him as if she was too weak to stand on her own.

"What do I need to get dressed up for?" she asked, her smile gradually coming back, though it didn't reach her eyes the way it had when they were riding back to the fortress earlier. Arthur couldn't imagine what could happen to her to take that shine away from her in so short an amount of time. He tried not to let his anger at the idea that anyone hurt her show on his face, and smiled for her.

"Well, we're having this great feast, and seeing as I'm your escort you're going to have to look something like a queen," he replied. "Or a Babylonian prostitute straight out of the bible, your choice."

"Perhaps we can find something right in between that is worn in conjuncture with me not going," she suggested hopefully.

"Not on your life, as my temporary mistress and a guest of this household, I insist that you come, no matter how grumpy or scantily clad you may end up being," Arthur insisted, brightening slightly when she laughed.

"I think you spend too much time with Lancelot," she said, shaking her head at the idea.

The instant Tristan had left the barn, he had known what a huge mistake he had made. He could already hear Helena's sobs behind him, and a part of him wanted to march right back in there and beg for an apology. But Tristan knew there was nothing like that to be done. Most likely she would never forgive him, nor speak to him again and he would have to live out his days in misery because of it. The instant the words had come out of his mouth, the instant he had called her a 'whore', Tristan had to fight the urge to punch something for his own stupidity.

That was mostly why he was now sitting in the corner of the tavern, drinking away his sorrows and not speaking to anybody whatsoever. He was afraid that if he went anywhere near Helena again, he would have yet another one of his outbursts, though he wasn't sure if he could possibly insult her much more than he already had. He didn't understand what was going on. Not once in his life had he been so absolutely passionate about another being, only to be absolutely cruel to her in the process. Tristan couldn't figure out what was wrong with him.

It didn't help that her exact carbon copy was sitting at a table near the front of the bar with Gawain, speaking merrily, but occasionally casting dark glares Tristan's way. He had no doubt that she had sensed what had happened between himself and Helena, and he was surprised the girl didn't tell Gawain about it. When he had first noticed Livia, he had thought that Helena had entered the bar with Gawain as revenge, knowing that he would be there. Until, of course he saw the different posture, the much more aristocratic stance, and the much more richly made dress. Neither of those three things belonged to Helena. But the fact that they looked exactly alike didn't make it any easier to be in the same room as Livia.

What made it all worse was that he suspected Arthur was going to be throwing a feast, and if so he was required to be there. And as for Helena, well she either would be, or she wouldn't and Tristan couldn't decide which one would be worse. Would it be the idea of seeing her dressed in a beautiful gown, flirting and dancing with all those other men as if she hadn't a care in the world that would send him over the edge? Or would it be the idea that while others enjoyed festivities, she would have locked herself away in her room, just as she had in the last confrontation, not going outside or seeing the light of day for weeks just so that she wouldn't have to lay her hateful eyes upon him? Both of them made Tristan wish they served something stronger than ale and wine at the tavern, because he was beginning to feel this horribly sinking sensation in his heart that he couldn't shake off, and he was worried that he wouldn't be able to get rid of it. He couldn't be weak. He couldn't allow himself to feel guilty for the incredibly stupid words he had said earlier. He wasn't allowed to, after all. The others depended on him to be a steady rock for them when they were in the middle of a raging river.

However, the feeling only got worse when he got to the party and saw her there on Arthur's arm, not exactly giddy and having a good time, but calm and collected and a damn good actress. He had decided on the latter because she had spotted him when he had entered the room, and while her hands holding her goblet shook violently, her smile stayed plastered on her face as she spoke with Vanora. And it didn't help that she looked so beautiful either. She was wearing another Roman gown, though this one was by far the most appealing one that Tristan had ever seen. Its neck was cut low without being obscene, and the bodice of the gown hugged her torso tightly, showing off her curves and bound with a golden ribbon. The skirt trailed after her, though not as long as some of the noblewomen he had seen, and her sleeves were off the shoulder and bell shaped, sweeping down to the floor. With her hair hanging straight and loose, she looked nothing short of a goddess.

"I must say, I envy Arthur his duty as an escort tonight," Lancelot had come up behind him without Tristan noticing, and the scout almost jumped in surprise. Almost. "She looks beautiful."

"That she does,"Tristan agreed, then quickly added. "As does her sister."

Of course, he hadn't even spotted Livia yet, and for some reason, while the twins looked alike, to Tristan Helena was the more beautiful of the two. Perhaps it was because they were so alike that he had felt that about her.

"Oh, stop lying, I know you haven't even taken your eyes off of Helena yet," Lancelot replied, jostling past Tristan to head towards their table before turning around. "Maybe if you weren't such an indomitable ass, she'd dance with you."

"What are you talking about?" Tristan asked, having been fairly certain they had been alone inside of the barn together when he had said those things.

"I was in one of the stalls during your argument," Lancelot replied, stepping closer to Tristan so their conversation would be private. "You're very good at breaking the mood between Matilda the barmaid and I. But anyway, I must say Tristan, I never expected you to be so bad with women."

Tristan sighed and edged past Lancelot to get to the table, and was irritated when Lancelot followed him there. The man was grinning in that conniving way that he often did, his dark eyes shining with mirth at Tristan's expense. They sat down at one of the long tables together, and Lancelot waited for a servant to pour him another goblet of wine before he began speaking again.

"I'm going to give you some advice, Tristan, and I'm only going to give it once so listen well," Lancelot said, and Tristan paid attention, though his eyes followed Helena as she danced with Arthur. They weren't so much dancing as romping about, and having a great deal of fun while doing so, a fact that didn't escape the scout's notice. "If you care enough about her, apologize and do it quickly because if you don't, one of us will move in on her, and it will probably be me."

Tristan turned to him before saying, "You're a real bastard, you know that Lancelot?"

Lancelot seemed to enjoy that Tristan had said this and smiled at him wickedly, his gaze straying to Helena as well. Tristan saw his friend's smile fade slightly upon looking at her, and become something more of an obsessive look, the one Tristan imagined he had on his face when they were in the stables, one that was rather disturbing.

"She's incredible, isn't she? Go dance with her," Lancelot suggested. "I'm sure Arthur wouldn't mind, and she wouldn't be allowed to turn you down."

"Why are you doing this when you're so clearly attracted to her?" Tristan asked in curiosity.

"Because it's amusing me to see you chase after a woman. I was starting to wonder if you were a eunuch, but this interesting development proves otherwise. I'm willing to give up one decent lay to see you make a fool out of yourself over a woman," he replied, though much like Tristan, his eyes never left Helena's form.

"I won't be making a fool out of myself. I won't be coming anywhere near her. She despises me," Tristan replied hopelessly and Lancelot chuckled, patting him on the back.

"Then make her stop despising you," he suggested, and rose. Tristan watched as Lancelot made his was over to Livia, who had been speaking with Galahad, whispering in her ear. A moment later, they made their way onto the dance floor, joining in with the crowd.

Once again, his eyes found Helena, who was still dancing with Arthur, the two chatting and laughing like old friends. However, the sight of Arthur's hand resting so assuredly upon her waist as they danced didn't stop Tristan from believing the worst of them. He watched as Helena kissed Arthur lightly on the cheek before she made her way off of the dance floor, accepting a goblet from a servant, pushing through the crowd and out into the courtyard, apparently to be alone. Overwhelmed by curiosity, Tristan rose from his seat and followed closely behind, though only Lancelot noticed his departure.

Staying in the shadows, he entered the courtyard, watching as Helena sat lightly on the stone bench that she had sat on a week before when he had insulted her for the first time. She looked tired and drawn, and Tristan wished he could come forward and comfort her, but chose to stay away for as long as possible and watch her instead. His mind kept replaying her grace as she sat upon the black stallion, which had to be at least 16 hands tall, riding without holding onto the reigns, and firing arrow after arrow so gracefully that it was easy to believe the bow was an extension of her body. She had looked absolutely beautiful, like a warrior woman from Tristan's dreams. When the sun hit her hair and pale skin, she almost seemed to glow, and the only color besides the black horse beneath her were those blue eyes, so strong and thoughtful that they were awe-inspiring. It had been an amazing thing to watch as she took down as many, if not more, Woads as Tristan did.

"Oh there you are, child, I was wondering where you had gone off to," the cardinal exited the party, passing right by Tristan so closely the scout could've touched him, without noticing, and headed towards Helena, who looked surprised by his sudden entrance. As if as an after thought, she rose from the bench and curtsied quickly, though it lacked the comfort and grace that her sister conveyed in that simple movement.

"Good evening, cardinal," she greeted him, her voice wary and tense. She clearly wasn't comfortable around him, something Tristan found understandable, as much as he understood her discomfort around himself. "What brings you out here, sire?"

"You are a very beautiful woman, Helena," the cardinal ignored her question, staring at her with a look in his eyes that Tristan didn't care to see. He looked like the personification of lechery and evil at that moment.

"Oh thank you, your grace, but my sister far surpasses me in beauty," she replied, in a modesty that probably wasn't false. "Your compliment is much appreciated, however untrue it may be."

"I never lie," the cardinal inched closer to her. "And I'm not lying when I tell you that your profession, while rather questionable, is not one that I look down upon."

"My– my profession?" she asked, seeming not to understand.

"As Arthur's lover. I consider it a profession, you see. Your kind do very well for themselves, especially in such hard times," the cardinal replied, taking Helena's hand again. She looked rather distressed at this. "But tell me child, what does Arthur provide for you that someone of a much more...noble stature... could not?"

"Well, your grace," Helena seemed to be floundering for a response, and the pink tinge to her cheeks was visible even in the dim light. Tristan saw her glancing towards the crowd as if hoping to catch one of the knight's eyes. "He... he is very kind to me. And he's, uh, very... he's a very good person. And an excellent... lover?"

"I'm sure that you could do much better than that," the cardinal was moving even closer to Helena now, and a few more hesitant steps would find her pressed against the wall. She looked so helpless at that moment that Tristan figured, her anger with him be damned, he wasn't about to allow her to be molested. Quickly, he stepped out of the shadows. The relief on her face was obvious, no matter how much she stiffened at his presence.

"There you are, Helena! I've been looking for you. I believe you owe me a dance," Tristan immediately said, acting as if he had just walked into the courtyard. The cardinal immediately released Helena, who visibly calmed at the loss of contact. He looked at Tristan with annoyance clearly written on his face.

"You're interrupting a private conversation boy. You go back inside. Helena will be available to you in say... five minutes?" he hissed, frowning deeply.

"Oh but I did promise him," Helena quickly jumped in, attempting to cover up the fear in her eyes. "And I'm not one to break a promise."

She moved quickly across the courtyard to Tristan, turning back to the cardinal once she had reached the scout's side. The man was clearly annoyed with both of them, scowling deeply. He took a step towards them, and Tristan felt Helena's cold hand take his own, squeezing it tightly. She was afraid of the man, and he realized why. If he were to find out about Livia, her sister would be killed, and if the cardinal happened to remember this particular night, Helena would be doomed as well.

"You would prefer to go on with this... this pagan knight, rather than to linger here a while with me for our _discussion_?" the cardinal all but growled, his eyes catching sight of their interlocked hands. "Ah, perhaps there are some extracurricular activities that Arthur is not aware of?"

"No," Helena all but shouted, not out of anger, but out of desperation. "No. Arthur and his men live by the idea of equality, and in Arthur's eyes, all of his men should get equal share of what Arthur receives. Tonight, Tristan gets his share."

Tristan didn't realize the implications of what she said until several moments later, when the idea registered within the cardinal's mind as well. His scowl turned into more of a disappointed frown as he thought it over. Tristan released Helena's hand and put his arm around her shoulders, hoping the movement would be realistic enough for the cardinal to leave them be for the sake of Arthur's rules.

"So you are nothing more than their _whore_?" the cardinal seemed to be pondering this. Tristan tried not to notice the deep look of pain upon Helena's eyes when she heard those words, tightening his grip around her shoulders.

"Apparently so. That's all I have been referred to of late, your grace," she replied, and Tristan could hear the vindictive tone of her voice as she said it. The scout saw her glance at him out of the corner of her eye as she said this, and tried to send her an apologetic look. "Come, Tristan, we shall have our dance and then retire."

Taking his hand, she led him back into the party, releasing him only once they were out of the cardinal's sight. Tristan instinctively staid close to her in a protective manner, but Helena pushed him away with faint annoyance on her face.

"Thank you for your help, Tristan, but I don't wish to take up any more of your time. I am sure there are many fine noblewomen here tonight who would enjoy a dance with you. You needn't stay amongst _commoners_," she looked away from him as she said this, her eyes finding her sister on the dance floor with Gawain. She nodded to her twin, who nodded back, and moved to get past Tristan who was in her way. "Excuse me."

She went to move to his other side, and he did the same, blocking her path once again. When she moved again, as did he, this time on purpose. She looked at him in confusion, her eyebrows knitted.

"I believe you owe me a dance," he said, arms crossed over his chest to show that he wasn't planning on giving up. "And I'm going to hold you to it."

Helena nearly smiled. He could see the flicker of merriment on her face before she subdued it. She nodded and took his arm, and Tristan led her out onto the dance floor. As they began, Tristan found himself surprised at what a fair dancer she was. As she was brought up by men, he had supposed she would never have learned the art of dance, but apparently he had supposed wrong. Arthur, who had spotted them entering, had a very surprised look in his eyes, though Tristan wasn't sure what the cause of it was. Had Helena or Lancelot informed him of what had happened earlier? Or was it just because no one expected the scout to fraternize, even with the most beautiful woman in the room.

He noticed the distracted look on Helena's face, and leaned in closely so she could hear him speak over the music.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his lips only centimeters away from ear. She shivered noticeably, but otherwise seemed unaffected by his close proximity.

"I believe my sister's flirting with every knight in the room at once, and I'm quite worried she'll cause problems," she murmured back, and it sounded like she was laughing. "I think she's decided she'd like to have all of them in her bed rather than just one."

"Aren't you going to stop her?" Tristan asked curiously. He had always supposed that Helena strove to control nearly every aspect of Livia's life, but apparently he was wrong. He had been so wrong when it came to Helena as of late.

"Oh no, don't be silly. She's still so young and stupid. She'll

either make a fool out of herself or get hurt, and learn something from it in the process. I'll always be there to pick up the pieces of whatever she's broken, and she knows that. I'm not one to stop my twin from having her romances," Helena replied. "As ill-advised as they are."

Tristan laughed at this, wondering who was more likely to get hurt. Would it be Livia or whatever knight she decided to play with? She certainly was a feisty one, and probably wouldn't give up without a fight. He imagined she had broken quite a few hearts in her lifetime.

"Which do you think she'll choose?" he asked out of curiosity. Helena was the only one in the room who could properly judge her sister's tastes, after all.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I'm surprised she hasn't taken a stab at you yet," she replied, to his dismay.

"Why would you say that?" whatever deities were out there, he could only pray that Livia wasn't attracted to him. The last thing he'd want to do was turn down Helena's twin and put himself in her bad favor once more.

"Livia's always been fond of the dark, mysterious types," Helena replied thoughtfully. "She always used to get herself in such trouble, running after the only dodgy person in whatever city we were staying in that week. It always would turn out that he was a murderer or something else to that effect, and whatever visions Livia had been having, she had been casting aside as something else. She can be so ridiculous about men sometimes."

"And you? What are your tastes in men?" Tristan couldn't believe he had allowed those words to leave his lips. He felt like such an idiot. Helena, however didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

"I haven't the faintest idea. I've always been so busy looking after Livia, I never really had time for such things. This is the first time in a very long time that I haven't had her within three feet of me for an entire day. In fact, I must admit I'm rather happy to have her roaming around the fortress alone. I daresay this is the safest place we've ever stayed in, and I plan to take advantage of it for as long as possible by dropping my sister off with someone else."

"Do you still worry for her?"

"Every waking moment. Every time I see something move in the shadows that I cannot explain. Every time I know she's had a vision, but she won't tell me what it was of. There isn't a moment when there isn't the tiniest bit of worry for Livia somewhere within me. Such is the curse of sisterhood."

"I suppose I would have been the same way, but my mother worried enough for all of us in my family," he replied. "There were eight of us, and I was the second eldest. She worried over all of us morning, noon and night. She cried for weeks before I was taken away to become a knight."

"She sounds like a perfectly wonderful mother to have," Helena replied with a smile. "To always know there's someone out there who loves you no matter what. That must be a wonderful feeling."

Tristan didn't bother telling her that three years into becoming a knight he had received a notice from his father alerting him that his mother had been killed by Roman soldiers when she had refused to give up one of his younger brothers to the service of the Romans. From what Tristan knew about the Romans, she had probably been beaten and raped before they finally gave her the relief of a sword. But he hadn't cried. Not a tear had been shed. And to this day, Tristan didn't quite understand why.

"It was," he agreed. He hadn't noticed that the song had ended and they had stopped dancing until then. He abruptly released Helena, feeling foolish. "Listen I wanted to apologize for earlier, I–."

"You have well made up for yourself, by preserving me from the rather forward nature of the cardinal. There is no need to apologize," she said quickly, placing a light hand over his mouth. Tristan removed it gently, taking it into his own hand.

"I insist. I was being an absolute fool. An indomitable ass. You must think me heartless," his words were rushed and spoken so low that no one besides those carefully listening could actually hear him. Helena looked more shocked than he thought it possible at his words, her eyes slightly wider than normal.

"It-it's alright, Tristan. You hurt my pride, is all; and scared me a little. Both injuries have been dealt in much more barbaric ways than your own upon myself. It's no trouble. Please don't bother yourself over it," she replied, patting his hand with her other one before releasing it.

"Sister, may we retire? I'm not feeling well," Livia approached them suddenly, looking rather pale and unsteady on her feet. Tristan had a feeling it wasn't so much illness that had gotten to her, and apparently Helena did as well.

"Have you drunk all of the wine in Briton yet? The way you're carrying yourself, I'd say so," she scolded Livia, and undeniable smirk of amusement on her face. "You go say goodnight to Gawain... or was it Galahad? Lancelot? Which one of the thousands of men you charmed tonight with your ways actually _escorted _you here?"

"Galahad," her sister answered woozily. "But I'm afraid he's passed out in the corner."

"Well poke him awake and say goodnight while I bid Tristan and Arthur goodnight as well," Helena replied, looking as if she were going to laugh. Livia stumbled off to the corner where the knights were gathered, all presumably drinking more than enough to keep themselves from seeing straight for at least two days, and Helena turned back to Tristan, laughing. "Well there's something you won't miss as a brotherly duty. Caring for your hung-over siblings after they spent a whole night carousing, while challenging any man who might have offended their honor to a duel and fighting all the other ones off with a stick. Tomorrow, I daresay I'll be the one in dire need of a drink."

Tristan laughed at this, glad to see that she wasn't particularly angry about the knights' bad examples being set upon her twin. Without warning, Helena hugged him, her arms tight around his neck, and her warm cheek pressed against his own. He was entranced by the light scent of pachouli rising off of her skin for a moment before hugging her back, though gently so he didn't hurt her.

"Thank you for saving me tonight, Tristan. Thank you," she whispered in his ear before releasing him and flitting away to say goodnight to Arthur before he could say anything in response. Tristan had to admit, the look of shock hadn't melted off of his face for several minutes, until Lancelot cuffed him hard on his back, a wide smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

"Well I don't know what you did, Tristan, but I'd say you've won her over," the dark knight congratulated the scout.

"I don't know what I did either," Tristan murmured helplessly, watching as Helena practically drag her sister out of the room. "I have no clue."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Helena had managed to get Livia safely in her room when her sister started to complain of feeling worse, and after removing all of the contents of her stomach into a bowl several times, Livia was laid down on her bed, and the candles blown out so that the only light of the room was the warm fire in the hearth across from her bed. Deciding it would be best to take care of Livia rather than allowing her to ride out her illness, Helena wet a towel with cold water from a pitcher and wiped her sister down with it before putting another cold towel on her forehead. It was a joint effort to get her into a nightgown, and once it was done, Helena poured an excess of water down her sister's throat to flush the alcohol from her system and sat by Livia's bed, waiting for her to fall asleep as she had done nearly every day since their mother died.

"Don't go back to your room, Helena. Stay with me. Don't go to your room," Livia was practically begging her.

"I'll stay," Helena promised, intending to wait until Livia drifted off so that she could go to bed herself. Her entire body was aching from the exertions of the day. Killing by daylight, dancing by night, and a rather distressing argument in between. Helena wasn't made of stone, she realized.

"Was that Tristan I saw you with on the dance floor?" Livia's voice was groggy and tired, and to Helena's distress, it seemed that her sister intended to stay up.

"Yes, he and I had been talking," Helena replied. "He's very agreeable once you get to know him."

"I think that _you _think that he's more than 'agreeable'," Livia teased in a slurred voice, her hands flailing wildly before falling back to the sheets that covered her as if they had suddenly died.

"You know what I think, Livvy? I think you're drunk. Extremely, incredibly, drunk. Now be quiet, and go to bed," Helena replied, putting a hand over her sister's eyes as if it would make her fall asleep. Her sister groaned as if she were in pain.

"Oh, I shouldn't have let Gawain talk me into that drinking contest," Livia complained, taking Helena's other hand. "I think I'm going to die. You wouldn't let me die, right, Helena?"

"You don't die from drinking too much, half-wit. Though I think you may want to in the morning. Father used to get horribly ill after he drank too much," Helena replied, removing her hand from over Livia's eyes.

"Helena would never let me die, she's such a good sister," Livia's eyes were closing now, though she seemed to be fighting falling asleep. "She loves me too much to let me die. I think she'd die first."

"I would. Now go to bed, dummy, or I'll make you," Helena threatened half-heartedly. Livia was asleep and snoring lightly even before Helena rose, releasing her hand and tucking the blankets tightly around her. "You know I love you, even if you drive me completely insane," she whispered before leaving the room.

The hall their bedrooms branched off of was dark except for a few torches near the ends, and Helena found her way back to her room mainly by sheer force of will and the feeling of stone beneath her fingertips, only stopping once she felt the wooden face of her door under her right hand. She was surprised to find it slightly ajar, but figured she had just forgotten to close it all the way when she left for the feast. However, she carefully pushed the doorway open, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. Unlike in Livia's room, a fire had not been stoked in the hearth, and there wasn't a single candle lit upon her entrance. Apparently the servants had accidentally overlooked her when they made their rounds. She would remind them tomorrow.

Still feeling her way with her hands, Helena made her way to her hearth, finding it already stocked with kindling. Maybe they had just forgotten to light it. She found some flint near the stand holding extra firewood and started the fire herself, basking in its growing warmth for a moment before standing and turning around.

Only to realize that she wasn't the only person in the room. A man stood in the corner, his face covered in shadow, and for a moment she wondered if it was Tristan. Until of course, he stepped forward and she realized that while his face was vaguely recognizable, she had no idea who it was. She took a surprised step backwards, almost setting herself on fire before she moved to the other side of the hearth, picking up a heavy piece of firewood deftly and hiding it behind her back.

"What are you doing in here? Who are you?" she asked, hoping her voice was loud enough that someone could hear. Perhaps Livia would awaken and summon the guards. At least that's what she would've hoped until she realized the man was wearing the uniform of a Roman guard.

The man did not speak, but advanced upon her, pushing her against a wall roughly, one hand covering her mouth which she had opened to scream. He pressed his body against her, a knife at her throat, his gravelly voice harsh in her ears.

"You scream, you call for help, and I'll kill you, then I'll go next door and rape and kill your sister, got it?" he growled in ear, and Helena nodded desperately. She couldn't do anything, she knew it. And she wasn't about to put Livia in danger. "I'm going to remove my hand. If you make a sound, I'll kill you."

His large hand was removed from her face and replaced by his mouth, moving hard and fast on her lips in pure desperation. Helena was terrified. This couldn't be happening to her. Not again. She tried to distance herself the way she had before, imagining herself running about in the fields of wild flowers that used to surround her home. But she couldn't keep herself unaware of his hands roving her body. Helena felt ill. She didn't want this to happen. She couldn't let this happen. Helena was about to knock him on the side of the head with the firewood that had been clasped in her hands when he took hold of her wrists, forcing her arms above her head, the wood clattering to the ground loudly as it slipped to the ground. The roman guard looked up at the sound, his eyes dark.

"You fight. I like a woman who fights," he said, attacking her neck with his mouth and teeth while he attempted to undo the gold ribbon around her torso. Helena felt a few tears trickle down her cheeks as he drew blood on her bare shoulder, though they weren't from pain, not mostly. It was from the helplessness that was invading her body. She was going to be raped right here, possibly killed, in a fortress she was sure was the safest in the land, surrounded by guards, the great Artorius Castus and his Sarmatian knights. It was hard to tell why God hated her so.

"Please... please don't," she barely managed to whimper as the golden ribbon fell to the ground and he began tugging at the top of her dress. "Please."

"Shut up, bitch," the man growled, punching her. Helena fell to the floor from the force, feeling as if she had just been kicked in the face by a horse. The guard climbed on top of her and resumed attempting to remove her clothing, Helena squirming beneath him, weakly attempting to fight him off while fighting off the unconsciousness that was creeping up on her from hitting her head sharply on the stone floor.

Suddenly, the door to her room slammed open, barely missing hitting her as it bounced off of the wall. The man on top of Helena was wrenched off of her and thrown across the room with a loud yell. She sat up from where she had landed, holding her knees as she scooted herself into the corner, watching what was happening by the dim firelight. There was the sound of a sword being drawn, the metal catching the firelight, and another following shortly afterwards. Helena fought the urge to throw up and pass out as she watched the two men clash swords, though she wasn't sure which one she was rooting for as they were both dressed in the shining armor of a roman guard and their faces were obscured by shadows.

Several other people entered the room, summoned by the sound of clashing swords, and Helena found herself surrounded by people, their bodies blocking the sight of her savior killing the man who had attacked her. A warm hand caressed her cheek, and Helena threw herself into Tristan's arms, shaking violently.

"Quickly, let's get her to Dagonet's room. She's bleeding," it was Gawain's voice that was speaking, though she couldn't see him in the darkness besides the silhouette of his long hair. Tristan lifted her from the ground, one arm beneath her knees the other supporting her back once her arms wrapped around his neck. He held her tightly to him, which Helena was more than grateful for, she needed to be held. However the warmth of his body was making her even more tired, and her eyelids began to flutter as her cheek rested on his shoulder.

"Stay awake, Helena," came Tristan's voice, as if he could see her face from the angle she was at.

"She's hit her head hard. Lass is lucky she's still up and about at all. Keep her up Tristan," Bors commented from somewhere behind them.

"Where's Arthur?" came Lancelot's sharp voice.

"Galahad's gone to fetch him," answered Gawain, who was walking next to Tristan. "Damn these halls, I can't see the door."

"It's right there," Tristan answered, apparently motioning somewhere, because Helena could dimly see Gawain step in front of her, his face turned towards the wall.

"Right where? I just tried to open up the wall, Tristan. Where in the bloody hell is it?" Gawain was clearly irritated.

"Stop fighting," Lancelot chastised both of them. "Tristan, give me the girl and you open the door since you're the only one who can see it."

Tristan cursed under his breath, and Helena smiled faintly at the sound, before she felt herself being handed over the Lancelot, who she was far less comfortable being held by. It didn't help that he wasn't nearly as warm as Tristan was. She shivered again, involuntarily, and adjusted herself slightly in Lancelot's arms, feeling herself begin to drift off again.

"Hurry up, Tristan, she's starting to go on us," Gawain hissed in warning. "Come on, girl, stay awake for us."

"The bloody thing's locked, the bastard," Tristan growled, tugging uselessly on the handle.

"What the hell's he doing in there that he needs the door locked?" snapped Gawain. Clearly, everyone was at the end of their patience.

"We probably don't want to know," Lancelot murmured, though only Helena heard it.

"Here, let me take care of it," volunteered Bors, who's look of anger wasn't completely blocked out by the shadows being cast on his face. There was a loud bang, then another, followed by a loud cracking sound. Helena winced, burying her head in Lancelot's neck as the sound ripped through her head. She was so tired. She just wanted to go to bed for a millennia or so.

"What? What's going on?" came the drowsy and surprised sound of Dagonet's voice. Helena felt Lancelot moving forward as he carried her into the much warmer room. Gawain went about lighting candles, casting the room into a bright glow that made Helena's eyes hurt.

"Helena's been attacked," Lancelot replied matter-of-factly. "She's taken quite a knock to her head, and she's bleeding in a few other places."

Dagonet was immediately out of bed, his shirtless form bustling around the room, shifting through his things, barely making a sound.

"On the bed. Put her on the bed," he gestured vaguely behind his back. "Keep her sitting up. Keep her awake."

There was a moment where Gawain arranged the pillows in a rather frantic manner that would've made Helena smile had her brain been able to properly process it. Lancelot laid her on the bed in a reclined position, and Tristan pulled Dagonet's blankets over her when he saw her shiver again. A moment later, Arthur and Galahad entered.

"Sorry we took so long, we were looking after the identification and disposal of the body," Arthur excused himself, immediately kneeling by Helena's side. "How is she?"

"Barely conscious," Bors replied. "And, out of curiosity, what body?"

"It appears one of the guards snuck into her room and attempted to rape her. According to Alaric, it's one of his men. He's dead now," Galahad said, his drunkenness worn off by the shock of seeing a man stab another to death. "Killed by his own commander, who happened to hear Helena cry out. She's damned lucky he was there."

"She was," Lancelot agreed somewhere to Helena's right. However, she couldn't see him, as her gaze was fixed on Tristan, who stood at the foot of her bed, staring down at her with an unreadable look on his face.

"You still with us, Helena?" asked Dagonet, who was perched on her other side, an assembly of medical gear strewn on the bed by her side. "I'm going to need you to sit up for me. Can you do that?"

"I... think," she replied weakly, her arms straining to help her sit up. She was about to fall back down when strong arms caught her, supporting her. Helena looked to her right to find herself face to face with Tristan who had leapt forward to catch her, his face only inches from her own, his breath intermingled with hers. Slightly disoriented, she lifted a heavy hand from the bedspread, touching the tattoo on his cheek softly. The smallest of smiles appeared on his face, though his eyes were still dark with sadness.

"Why are you sad?" she asked, though her mind didn't comprehend the words. Tristan adjusted himself slightly so she could rest more comfortably before he answered.

"Because I couldn't save you," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Helena could feel Dagonet pressing something to the back of her head, and a sharp stinging sensation made her hiss in pain, squeezing her eyes closed and leaning her forehead against Tristan's. They remained that way for only a moment, but for Helena it felt like an eternity. She could feel his hot breath upon her face, and a prickling sensation told her that he was still watching her closely. She was incredibly aware of his warm hands supporting her, the way that his arms were wrapped so easily around her torso, but so firmly. She didn't know what to make of his reply, nor of the fact that there was an odd fluttering in her stomach at the moment that she was attributing to her head wound until further notice. And Helena didn't have a chance to really think over it because after that eternal moment passed, the room was full of the men's speaking.

"Stay awake now, Helena. No falling asleep on Tristan no matter how well padded he may be," the voice was unmistakably Lancelot's, though her eyes were closed. It had a vaguely mocking, self-assured quality to it that was uniquely his.

"No one's more padded than yourself, Lancelot," came Bors' loud voice, making Helena's head ache. "You've been lettin' yourself go, chasin' those barmaids and thinkin' they won't care whether or not you've got a paunch."

"And you're just a hunk of muscle yourself, Bors," replied Galahad.

"Has anyone awoken Livia?" asked Arthur, interrupting their good-natured jesting.

"There's no need," Helena stopped him before he suggested anyone awaken her twin. The precious moments Livia spent sleeping without nightmares weren't something Helena was about to interrupt, no matter what. "She needs her sleep, I'll tell her what happened in the morning. I don't imagine she'll be much help anyway, in her condition. It would be best to leave her in bed."

"Did you know that guard, Helena?" asked Gawain, and Helena opened her eyes and sat up a little so she could look at him.

"I knew his face. I suppose I'd seen him elsewhere, but I didn't know him personally. Why?" she asked.

"We're trying to determine whether or not we should feed Alaric and his men to the dogs, or if we should just forcibly remove them from the fortress," Tristan replied, his voice momentarily losing its calm, and becoming something close to vicious. Helena's eyes met his again, slightly surprised by the ferociousness in his voice, a different kind than the voice he had used on her when they had argued. It was one that was truly dangerous sounding, and Helena wouldn't be surprised if she was told in the morning that Tristan had gone out and killed every Roman guard within the fortress. She squeezed his upper arm reassuringly, giving him a weak smile.

"The dogs would get sick, and there's nothing less useful than a mutt poisoned by bad meat," she replied, and the others laughed. Tristan remained stoic however, though he seemed to calm slightly, a fact that Helena was quite thankful for. Dagonet wrapped a bandage around her head before moving from behind her so that Helena could lie back on the pillows once again.

"What's that on your shoulder?" asked Galahad, pointing to the bleeding wound left behind by the guard when he had bitten her.

"Oh... he, uh..." not knowing how to explain herself, Helena just gestured vaguely to the wound before giving up any attempt at making him understand. "It's just a... you know..."

"He bit you?" Lancelot sounded surprised, a hint of anger hidden deep within his voice, a sound that surprised Helena far less than the same sound being played within Tristan's. Lancelot seemed the kind of man that was easily thrown into a passion, whether it be anger, love or joviality. Tristan, on the other hand, was rather self-controlled and far less likely to fly into a fit unless there was something really bothering him.

"Aye, a bit," she replied. The men all mirrored the same look on Tristan's face now, and Helena wondered if she hadn't made things worse. If Arthur and his knights acted rashly against the Roman guard they could get into quite a bit of trouble, and she didn't want to do that to them. Dagonet cleaned the wound with a strange tenderness, and bandaged it lightly, patting her cheek with the slightest of smiles.

"You'll live," he promised.

"Though once again you've managed to bleed absolutely _everywhere_," Arthur said, and even in the dim candle light she could see the slightest of merriment building in his eyes as he spoke.

"Like I told you, it's a self defense mechanism. If I had been given a few more minutes, the man would've been scared off because the stuff would be inches deep and still going. Not that I minded being rescued, of course," she replied half-heartedly.

"Of course not. Alaric will receive some kind of reward for his valor. I don't imagine it's an easy thing to kill you own men," Arthur replied, glancing about the room as if he were wondering if he would be able to do such a thing without some serious thought beforehand.

"Who is this Alaric you've been speaking of?" Helena asked, recognizing the name, but unable to put a face to it.

"He was the leader of the Roman guards that brought the Cardinal here. I believe you spoke with him when you made your daring rescue," Galahad replied.

_Of course_, Helena realized, remembering the young man she had spoken with, the one with the twinkling blue eyes and the strong voice. He had been more than helpful during the Woad attack, and now he had saved her from inevitable rape. She would have to thank him personally once she was up and about.

"You seem less hysterical than I would imagine anyone else being," Gawain observed, leaning against the bedside stand with his arms crossed as he watched her closely. Helena knew he was right, she should have been crying or shaking or something of the sort. However, she felt like do no such thing. Truthfully, she felt a little numb of emotion, the same feeling she had felt when her sister rushed out of the house to the field where she was working to tell her that their mother had been murdered. She knew that she cared at least a little bit, but for some reason her heart and her head wouldn't pick up the same beat, so instead she just felt nothing. It was the least pleasant feeling in the universe.

"I know," she replied with a sigh. "I guess it bothers me less than it did the first time."

"'The first time'?" Tristan asked, though she was sure he had suspicions about it ever since the night she had told them all the truth. You would have to be dense not to be suspicious about her refusal to tell them exactly what happened when the men in black cloaks had taken her out of the cell she had shared with Livia during their capture. Rape wasn't the only thing they did, but it had been painful enough that the first time it happened the normally unshakable Helena wept for days afterwards. The torture and other things were more painful, and left many scars, but it was the rape that stayed with her.

"When I was imprisoned by the men after Livia," she answered him in a dull voice. "They never took her out of the cell, I never let them, so I was the only thing they could use to figure out which of us was the mystic and which wasn't. I always had my suspicions that they knew all along, as it couldn't be more obvious that I worked outside all day while she was within. I suppose I was more of a plaything than anything."

"Do you have any idea where they are now?" Bors asked, his voice slightly less loud than before to Helena's relief.

"If they aren't already here, then somewhere close behind. I waited too long before we picked up and left last time. The only way we avoided capture was by riding hard for several days straight," Helena said with an indecisive shrug. "It was difficult with an arrow sticking out of me and no healer to speak of, but we managed alright."

"This gives me much to think on," Arthur said after a moment of silence. "You get some rest, Helena, you look exhausted. Tristan will stay with you and stand guard. Dagonet, you're needed in the guard's quarters. Alaric managed to take a few blows and could use some tending to, nothing serious. The rest of you are free to do as you will."

"Wake her every hour, Tristan," Dagonet advised. "That hit to the head could be something serious.

"Goodnight, Helena," Lancelot said, leaning in and patting her cheek comfortingly with a slight smile before rising and exiting the room. The others wished her goodnight and left as well, and Helena found herself alone in the room with Tristan, who pulled up an armchair next to the bed and set to sharpening his daggers.

"Perhaps we should check on Livia," Helena realized, eyes wide. "Who's to say she hasn't been attacked as well?"

"She hasn't," Tristan confirmed. "Galahad told me as much when he entered with Arthur. She's sleeping, as you should be. Go to bed, I will not leave."

Helena inched a little closer to where he was sitting in before settling down and closing her eyes, suddenly aware of how weary she was. Her tiredness had been completely forgotten in all of the excitement, but it immediately came back to hit her hard now that she was surrounded by silence and Tristan's calm aura. She felt his warm hand take her own right before she drifted off to sleep.

Tristan didn't feel anything near contentment as he sat in Dagonet's room, holding Helena's hand while she slept. He wanted to go out and kill something. He wanted to make Alaric's men pay for what happened to her. He hated himself for not getting their sooner and being able to take care of the attacker himself, but when he had seen Alaric already taking down the man, and the sight of Helena cowering in the corner, he had chosen her over helping finish the guard off. The feeling of holding her in his arms was an unforgettable one, the way that she pressed herself against him for warmth, the feeling of her warm breath against his neck. It made him shiver just thinking about it, though he couldn't explain it.

What was it about Helena that was so utterly captivating? What was that undefinable allure? Tristan knew she was beautiful, but that wasn't it. Was it that she was strong at times that other people could not be? The way she was so selfless, asking after her sister's well being only a few moments after she had been attacked? No, he realized, the selflessness was actually a bit distressing to him. It made him dislike Livia more and more every day, thinking her selfish and too dependent on her already worn down sister. Perhaps it was her tact, the way that she could change any conversation to suit her better. Or was it the fact that she rarely lied, and when she did the lie was more believable than the truth? Maybe it was all of that and something else, Tristan realized. There were too many good things about Helena to name them all in one sitting.

And why did he keep thinking about her? Tristan couldn't get through a minute during training without wondering what Helena was doing, if she was in trouble, or maybe upset. He fought back the urge to go check on her almost constantly. Was it just that she seemed like the kind of person who could use protection? No, that had never affected him in such a way before, it had to be something else. Was it... no... Tristan didn't even want to consider the idea that he actually _liked _the girl. It was more like he had some horrible obsession with her that he couldn't get over because of some influx of lust.

Yes, that _had _to be it. Lust. Because it just couldn't be love. It couldn't be.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I _still _don't own King Arthur. Don't sue.

**Author's Note:**I forgot to do one of these on the last chapter, but thanks to everyone who reviewed! You guys make my day! Anyway, this chapter has quite a bit in it, a little fluffiness, some humor, some fighting, and one of my favorite scenes that I've ever written. You guys will know it when you see it.

love you guys- Charlotte

Chapter Seven

Helena had quickly recovered from her head injury, and was up and about the very next day though she was plagued with a horrible head ache and sudden bouts of dizziness that kept her from being very useful at all. It was noon, and Livia had already awakened with the worst hang-over in history, but Helena hadn't bothered to tell her twin what happened yet. She was afraid that the memories were too fresh in her mind and that Livia would become ill or over-exert herself with worry. Helena had only bothered to make her a cup of willow bark tea for the headache and some green tea for her sister's nausea caused by both drinking both the alcohol and the willow bark tea before she left her twin to her own devices and decided to spend the day outside.

Dressed in a simple green dress, she wandered inside of the fortress, occasionally ducking into the shadows whenever she spotted a Roman guard, and generally enjoying the warm sun as it beat upon her face. Out of sheer boredom, she ended up helping Vanora clean up the tavern and get ready for the men to come during the night while they were off-duty, finding herself enjoying the woman's company. For a while she had been a little nervous about Vanora, thinking her to be as loud and callous as her husband, but while she held the youngest of the children while Vanora cleaned mugs and chatted with her, Helena realized that the woman was as genial as anyone else.

"Bors'll marry me some day, I suspect. He'd be sooner if I just put his balls in a vise, though," okay, perhaps Vanora was a little callous, but she pulled it off in such a way that it wasn't so much offensive as it was funny.

"He seems a very nice man," Helena agreed. "And I'm sure he loves you, I don't think he'd have so many children with you otherwise."

"Oh, you are an innocent thing yet," Vanora said with a smile, pinching her cheek. "Men aren't afraid to father bastard children, dearie. In fact, many of them take pride in the vast numbers of children. I suppose it's some sign of virility."

"Really? But having children is such a big step. I thought it would be as important to men as it is to women," Helena said with surprise, adjusting her grip on the baby as it started squirming about in her arms. Vanora shrugged, then took the baby from Helena.

"I think he's hungry. Will you feed the children for me? They're around here somewhere, I've already got their lunch together, you just need to round them up and give them their dishes," Vanora said. Helena nodded and Vanora disappeared elsewhere to breast feed the baby.

It took a half-hour to get together the dozen children of Bors' family and even longer to get them settled in, so Helena was quite glad when she realized that the lunch that Vanora had prepared for them was meant to be served cool rather than warm, a good insight on the other woman's part. While the children sat around a long table at the tavern and ate, Helena sat at another, watching over them and sipping a cup of tea to help with the dreadful headache that she had. After several fights at the table during which Helena had to detach number six from number three, the lunch was finally finished and she sent the children on her way while she began the long and arduous process of cleaning up after them, not wanting to make Vanora do all of the work. However, she was interrupted with picking up bits of bread, meat and cheese that the children had either been flinging at one another or attempting to eat, when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Helena let out a little shriek of surprise and would've fallen over if a strong hand hadn't fixed around her upper arm and held her upright. She whipped around, about to fight her attacker when she met a pair of twinkling blue eyes attached to a body clothed in the armor of a Roman guardsmen. For a moment she wasn't sure whether or not she was about to be attacked, when she remembered that this man was Alaric, who had saved her.

"I've been looking for you, I though I would check in and see how you are feeling today, milady," he said in a rather quiet voice as if he wanted to keep the conversation private. It didn't take long for her to realize why. Several feet away were several other guards who were glaring daggers at both of them, and she supposed that Alaric was a little concerned that they would give them some trouble. It wasn't like they were trying to hide the fact that they despised the two.

"Oh, I'm quite fine, thank you. The knock to the head was a bit rough, but I'm feeling much better otherwise," she replied. "I never got a chance to thank you so, uh... thank you."

He shook her proffered hand with a slight smile and nodded to her.

"There's no need to thank me. I'm just sorry I didn't get there sooner, milady," he replied. "I'm glad that you're well."

"Thank you, but please call me Helena. The 'milady' thing hardly suits me, though I'm sure you could charm my sister with it for quite a while," she informed him, and was happy to see that he laughed.

"Yes, I've had the pleasure of having several conversations with Livia, she's quite a lively one. Did you know she's got quite a gift? The other day she warned me that I better keep my feet, and right after I left, I tripped over a wandering goose."

"Oh, it was probably a practical joke," Helena said, mentally cursing her sister's inability to keep her abilities to herself rather than showing off to any handsome young man she could find. "Livia does so love to laugh."

"Is that something you both share, or are you the somber twin?" he asked her.

"I hardly know," she replied truthfully and resumed cleaning up after the children. "I suppose I'm somewhere in between somber and carefree."

"That's a wonderful way to be," Alaric replied. "And your devotion to your sister is incredibly admirable. I've heard rumors of some of the things that you've done for her, and I have to say, I've never heard of such love for one's sibling. Personally, I couldn't wait to go off to be a guard and leave my sisters back home."

"It's hard not to love Livia," Helena replied. "I've known her all my life, and I'm still not tired of her."

Alaric smiled at this and glancing back at the guards glaring at them, took Helena's hand and kissed the knuckles lightly, which surprised her greatly. Wondering if perhaps she should run away now, or wait to see what was going to happen next, Helena was stuck somewhere in the la la land of 'fight or flight', and almost missed Alaric's words.

"I must be going now, Helena, but I would very much like to see you again. Would you allow me to?" he asked. Helena wasn't sure if she liked his forwardness so much, but he _did _save her and she didn't want to be ungrateful, so instead nodded her approval, watching as he walked away in a slight daze.

"Oh, who was that dear?" Vanora asked, coming out from the back, holding the baby and smiling as she watched Alaric walk away. "Have you found yourself someone?"

"Oh goodness no, he and I just know each other from several unfortunate incidents," Helena replied. "I hardly even know him."

"Well you ought to get to know him, he's certainly a pretty thing," Vanora commented. "Not as pretty as some of the knights, but pretty nonetheless."

"I hardly know him," Helena replied in shock. "I wouldn't even consider him in such a way!"

Vanora laughed at her, handing Helena the baby again, who was rapidly falling asleep now that it had a full stomach. Meanwhile, the older woman set to finishing cleaning up, finishing much more quickly than Helena would have, a well-learned trait from motherhood.

"Perhaps there is someone else you would rather have?" Vanora suggested, hiding the all-knowing grin upon her face. "Perhaps Lancelot? Or maybe Tristan?"

"You talk too much, Vanora," Helena grumbled, a frown on her face. "Change the subject, you're making me fairly uncomfortable."

"Ah, the awkwardness of youth, how precious," came Bors' loud voice from behind Helena, making her jump and almost lose her grip on the sleeping baby. He took the little bundle from her, cradling it in his huge arms lovingly and giving it a scratchy kiss on the forehead. "I see you've taken to my Vanora, perhaps you'll be willing to sit with the children for us while we..."

"If you don't finish that sentence, I'll consider it," Helena interrupted him quickly. "I'm sure Livia would love to play with the children for a while."

"Oh yes, I like children," came a soft voice from behind her, and Helena looked around to see her twin standing behind her, dressed in another one of her fine gowns. Her hair was wound upon her head and covered in a lace veil that made Helena mentally shake her head. Some days, Livia could be so impractical. "Hello Helena, I was hoping we could go on a walk, since I'm feeling better now."

"Of course. You don't mind, do you Vanora?" Helena asked the tavern mistress, who shooed her off to spend quality time with her sister. That morning, Helena had removed the bandage from around her head and she was more than grateful that she had done so now that her sister was sober enough to be able to notice it if it was there. "So what did you want to speak with me about, Livia?"

"How did you know I wanted to speak with you about something?" Livia asked the way she always did when Helena predicted exactly what she wanted or what was bothering her. Her twin was too blind to realize that Helena could pinpoint nearly every emotion she was feeling at the moment just by looking at her, and had more than once accused Helena of being a reader.

"Well, you wouldn't want to come see me unless it was something important, seeing as you and I have been seeing each other every day nonstop for several years now," she replied, watching with amusement as Galahad stared at Livia when they passed him.

"You do know me so well, Helena," Livia replied. "I... I wanted to know why you didn't tell me what happened last night. Did you know that Tristan came into my room this morning and told me everything, right after you brought me that horrid tea? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to bother you with it Livia. This is the safest place that we've ever been since mother and father were killed, and I don't want to ruin it for you just because some drunken guard attacked me. I'm not even that badly hurt," Helena reasoned, and was surprised when her sister maintained the look of irritation on her face.

"I know that you're trying to take care of me, but this is just ridiculous Helena. You could've been killed when that arrow got you, and you didn't tell me a thing about it until the knights found out. And now you're doing it again, trying to protect me when you get yourself hurt. I may be weak, Helena, but I'm not completely useless," Livia's voice was harsh and irritated, losing the pleading that it had earlier. She was truly angry with Helena, who understood why but wasn't about to condone her sister's anger.

"I know that, Livia. But you've had a hard time of it with the nightmares and the visions," Helena replied. "I just want to keep at least a little bit of the evil away from you, at least the bit that I can actually fight off. If it means keeping the truth from you, then so be it."

"You are so self-righteous. Do you think you're some kind of hero, Helena?" Livia's voice was unexpectedly venomous, and Helena took a step back as if she had been physically struck. "You think that _I'm _not trying to protect _you _from something. Helena... if you knew what I've dreamed, you would never be able to look me in the eye again. And you think that you can go and keep things in the physical world a secret from me just because I keep things in the supernatural world a secret from you. I bet it makes you feel important."

"I'm just protecting you, you stupid git!" Helena finally burst out, watching as her sister blinked in shock. "You think I wanted to be burnt with hot irons for you, sister? You think you're even worth that? I keep telling people what a wonderful person you are, and how happy I am to be your sister, but if I knew what I would have to bear for you, I would've let _them_ take you in the beginning. And do you want to know why? Because you are the most ungrateful wench I've ever met! I set aside my entire bloody life to protect you! I could've been married back home, I could have had children. God knows they weren't after me! But I set aside my entire future because you needed me. And do you know what you give me in return? Nothing. Bloody nothing. I resist the greatest of pains because I'm sure that at some point you'll actually appreciate it, maybe even thank me, but instead I bear it all silently and watch as you ignore what's right_ bloody_ in front of you! For a _bloody_ reader, you're not very intuitive!"

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Livia's voice was shaking, though whether it was from anger or fear, Helena wasn't sure.

"Torture and rape, Livia. That's what happened when we were captured. Torture and rape. There, I've stopped keeping it a secret from you. Now you can live with it too," and with that, Helena walked off, feeling both guilty and extremely relieved.

It was about two in the afternoon when Tristan decided to head out to the training field and practice with his bow and arrow for a while, his hawk soaring above him somewhere, probably looking for food while she followed her master. For some reason, the animal was the only thing he could ever claim a complete attachment to. While he was loyal to Arthur and the other knights, and thought of them as brothers, he knew they would never understand him quite as well as his hawk did, though he wasn't quite sure why he believed it that way. She seemed to find something in the training field as she began circling, and Tristan headed over, surprised to see there was already someone there, shooting arrows rapid fire into the target. He was even more surprised when he realized it was Helena.

"I'm not so sure you should be handling a bow and arrow in your state," he said, creeping up behind her. She jumped slightly, letting lose her arrow, which hit the target regardless. Helena turned to look at him, and he could see a bit of annoyance flash through her eyes before she calmed again. Apparently, she was having a bad day. He could tell by the hard grip she had on her bow, the way her knuckles were turning white.

"My injuries are not that horrible, Tristan. I think I can manage a bow and arrow," she replied, picking another arrow off of the ground and stringing it in the bow expertly. "Besides, this is a good way to spend my time. I've fallen out of practice and need to make sure that my skills don't get too shoddy."

"I didn't mean your injuries, I meant with how upset you are with your sister," he replied, standing next to her and stringing his own bow. Helena hit the bull's-eye before turning to him with confusion written on her face.

"How did you know?" she asked, her voice irritated, though not at him. She picked up yet another arrow.

"I don't think there is someone who doesn't. You both were yelling quite loudly in a crowded space, and we've got nothing to do but work and gossip around here," he replied, and was surprised when Helena actually laughed. "What's so funny?"

"I was just picturing you knights all sitting in sewing circle, gossiping like old ladies," she replied with a smirk, letting another arrow fly in a graceful arc, meeting its mark perfectly. "I imagine that I'll have quite a bit of apologizing to do. Livia's such a favorite around here, I'm surprised I don't have an army marching after me at this very moment."

"Actually, most everyone has taken your side," Tristan replied, carefully aiming and hitting the target at the exact spot Helena's arrow had hit, splitting it in two. She looked impressed, but didn't comment on it, stringing another arrow but not firing it.

"Why my side? I'm taciturn and all sorts of unladylike," she replied with a frown. "Perhaps they mistook me for her? People do seem to do that quite often. The other day, Galahad started propositioning me until he realized that I wasn't Livia. I've never seen a man turn that particular shade of red before."

"No, it's well known that you have suffered greatly through the trials. They pity you as they pity the horse with the cruel master who uses a whip rather than giving commands," Tristan replied and watched as she fired the arrow again, splitting one of his arrows in two. "You're quite good."

"Thank you, I've had a lot of practice," she replied, "but a bow and arrow is only useful from a distance. Up close, it's too difficult to fire."

"Do you know how to use a sword?"

"I'm pretty sure I know which end to hold," she replied with a slight smile. "But other than that, no. My father found no need to teach me sword-fighting, and the bow and arrow practice was meant for hunting with the scout."

"I remember you mentioning him," Tristan commented, stringing another arrow and firing again. "What was he like?"

"His name was Matthias. He was probably the most graceful and quiet man I've ever met in my life, more than you and Dagonet combined. He taught me almost everything I know," she said with a blissful smile on her face as she reminisced about better times. "I met him when he was only a teenager, a Sarmatian like yourself sent over to work for my father. I was probably four or five years old, and I used to follow him everywhere. It drove him completely crazy, but he started taking a liking to me after a while and taught me the art of scouting and the ability to read someone's face. He was like the big brother I never had."

"What happened to him?" Tristan had stopped shooting arrows to listen to her, but began again once she stopped speaking. It was strange to him that she could hold his attention well enough to make him stop training. Helena was probably the only person who could hold claim to that ability.

"Right now, I imagine that he must be on his way back to Sarmatia. His fifteen years was completed recently, and I'm sure that my cousin had no choice but to let him leave," she replied. "I'm happy for him. He used to tell me stories about his home when we got stranded in the woods overnight. He loved Sarmatia more than anything, and was hoping to track down his family and resume living with his tribe. I hope he finds them."

"It's not always easy," Tristan told her. "Many of the tribes are nomadic. The likelihood of being able to find them is very low, as is the likelihood that any of them are still alive. The Sarmatians and the Romans may have a kind of treaty, but that doesn't stop Rome from mindlessly slaughtering hundreds and hundreds of Sarmatians every year just for the hell of it. Entire tribes have been wiped out by their blood-lust."

"Another reason why I'm glad I'm not fully Roman," she replied. "I only vaguely remember Sarmatia, but I would like to go back there some day. I remember it being beautiful, much brighter than it is here in Briton. With wide, open fields of long grass and a sky so blue it hurt your eyes just to look at it."

"You've been there before?" Tristan was surprised by this. He knew she was half Sarmatian but he had assumed that she spent her entire life living in the town her father manned.

"Of course. My mother took Livia and I there for a trip when we were seven or so. We managed to find the tribe she had lived with, and stayed with them for several weeks before we returned home," she said. "The women adored Livia, I think they made her more spoiled than she already was, the way they babied her."

"And yourself?"

"I was dubbed the 'useless twin' and allowed to roam. I was happy to do that, mind you. There are plenty of beautiful things to see in Sarmatia."

Helena reached down to grab another arrow and saw that she was out. Seeing it as well, Tristan thought for a moment before speaking.

"Come, I'll escort you back to the fortress," he offered, and was surprised when Helena linked his arm with hers, picking up her bow with her other hand. Half way to the fortress, however, she stopped walking, planting her feet firmly on the ground. "What?"

"I just remembered that I don't want to go back," she replied in an almost childishly frightened tone.

"Why not?" Tristan asked, pulling on her arm and admiring her stubbornness when she didn't budge an inch.

"Because now everyone knows what happened and they'll all be saying that they're 'sorry' for what happened to me, and I'm going to have to look Livia in the face again after I've yelled at her for the first time in my life, and I don't think I can do it," she said, speaking so quickly that all of the words combined until it was just one massive word. Tristan couldn't help but laugh at her, something he hadn't done in a long time. She looked at him with an arched eyebrow. "What are you laughing at?"

"You, mostly," he replied, an unusual smile on his face. "You're the unbeatable Helena, who could probably take a sword to the gut but manage to tie her sister's shoes for her in the meantime, and you're afraid of some little confrontation? Half of this is going to be completely forgotten about by the time Lancelot gets into another argument with his wenches when they get angry over his non-monogamous ways. As for your sister... well, she could use a good yell or two every once in a while. She's just lucky you aren't violent. From what I heard, people thought you were going to punch her."

"I would never punch my sister!" Helena replied in shock, then sobered. "I mean, I'd think about it, and maybe daydream... but I'd never actually go through with it. I think."

"See, that's exactly what I wanted to hear from you for all this time," Tristan replied, taking her arm. "You've finally admitted that you don't like taking care of your sister all the time, and quite possibly don't like her as a person. That's all I wanted."

"You are a very simple man, Tristan," she replied after a moment, and began walking again. "If only we could get rid of that Cardinal I think all of my problems would be gone for the time being."

"Well, that could be any time now," Tristan replied. "Arthur was only to receive some updated orders from Rome and send the Cardinal back with news of the situation in Briton. He should be leaving any day now."

"I hope so," Helena replied, leaning her head on his shoulder with a yawn. "If that man attempts to get me into his bed one more time, I think I may have to remove a few vital parts to make sure he keeps to his vow of celibacy."

"Well that's harsh," Tristan replied with a wince. "Couldn't you just give him a slap on the hand instead?"

"No, I think he'd learn more from it if I did otherwise," she told him with a rather charming smile.

"Well you can't blame the man for trying. Any of us would, with a beautiful girl like yourself," Tristan hadn't even realized what he said as they entered the fortress, going straight to the weapon's room near the barn. Helena looked at him in surprise.

"Did you just say I'm beautiful?"

"What?" Tristan asked, internally kicking himself while he looked at her with feigned confusion.

"You _did_ didn't you?" she said with a slightly accusatory voice, barely able to hide her smile. "Well Tristan, I had no idea that you were that kind of person, trying to make overtures at me. I'm quite shocked, really."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, hanging her bow up next to his.

"Yes you do. You think I'm beautiful. I may have to write down the date. What_ is _the date anyway?" she asked.

"June 3rd," he replied.

"So, June 3rd- Tristan says I'm beautiful and it turns out he's quite the philanderer. I learn new things every day," she teased him.

"Cut it out," he said in a warning voice.

"Never. You won't hear the end of this for at least a week," she replied with a smile.

Tristan tackled her into a pile of hay unexpectedly, and Helena let out a screech that quickly dissolved into giggles as she pushed him off of her with surprising strength and pinned him down herself, sitting on his stomach and holding his wrists by his sides. A moment later, Tristan rolled her back over, pinning her wrists above her head and smirking down at her as he laid on top of her, barely leaning any of his weight on her.

"I win," he whispered in her ear as he tried to ignore the sensation of her beneath him. Helena laughed at him, but apparently had given up as she conceded defeat.

"Maybe this time you've won, but you better watch out next time, Tristan. I'll beat you yet," she replied, trying to escape from his grasp.

"Oh will you?" he asked her, refusing to relinquish his grip, enjoying the moment far too much.

"Oh, I will," she replied with a smirk, picking up her head a little to look him in the eye.

Helena looked more beautiful just then than Tristan had ever seen her look before. Her blonde hair was mussed, hanging loose down her back as she usually wore it, her eyes bright with exertion and laughter, and the faint color in her cheeks gave her a youthful appearance that made her positively stunning. Not knowing what he was doing, Tristan leaned forward, his lips brushing against her own softly, testing to see whether or not she would push him away as he released her wrists. Instead, her right hand reached out to softly brush his cheek and Tristan deepened the kiss, wondering exactly what he was doing and why. Her hands tangled in his hair as she began responding more and more, and Tristan forgot for a moment that what he was doing was entirely too questionable, allowing himself to lose all thought as he kissed Helena. Suddenly, a loud voice rang out, parting the couple with gasps of surprise.

"TRISTAN, HELENA, COME QUICKLY!" it sounded like Arthur, and they both jumped out of the hay, Helena hastily brushing it off of her dress and out of her hair. It didn't take long to find out why someone was yelling for them. In the open center of the fortress, near the tavern, the Cardinal and a few of his men stood together, and the Cardinal seemed to be holding a squirming girl in a gown a little too nice to be wearing as a day dress. It took Tristan a moment to realize that it was Livia struggling in the Cardinal's grasp.

"That man takes his sex very seriously," Lancelot commented as he stood on Helena's right while Tristan was on her left.

"I know what this girl is!" the Cardinal proclaimed, spotting Helena and fixing his beady stare upon her. "I know that your sister is a mystic and you've been protecting her! As a servant of God and the Pope, I am obliged to take care of the problem, she will be killed under the charge of heresy."

"Oh dear Lord," Helena gasped softly, then stepped forward to do one of the stupidest things that Tristan could've guessed of her. "Let Helena go!"

"What?" the Cardinal was confused.

"What?" repeated Lancelot. Now Tristan was confused, and apparently so was everyone else in the courtyard, who stared between the two girls (one of which had to be Livia, and the other Helena, though no one was sure which was which), trying to distinguish which was which.

"I am Livia! Release my sister and take me!" she pleaded and took a step forward, which was when Tristan realized the girl he had kissed was _not_, in fact, Helena. The step she took was too graceful and flowing to be anyone other than Livia.

"Stop it Helena!" shouted the girl being held by the Cardinal. "Stop it, you're going to get yourself killed!"

"Shit, I don't know which is which," Lancelot murmured. Tristan nodded in agreement as Arthur joined the pair, looking as lost as everyone else was.

"I hate twins," Arthur murmured. "And I hate whichever one is Helena right now because whatever she's doing, she shouldn't be doing it."

"She is Helena!" the girl advancing on the Cardinal pointed to the struggling girl in Livia's clothing. "We switched places! We knew that you would be coming after me after she let it slip that I was a reader in the open. Don't kill my sister, take me. _I _am the heretic. I've been on this Earth far too long, leave her be and take me."

"Stop it Helena! Please, just stop!" pleaded the other girl, who was still trying to fight off the Cardinal. "I'm Livia, Cardinal, not her."

"She's a liar. Helena's always been a convincing liar. I'm Livia, can't you tell? She's clearly the much more attractive one," the girl in the green dress reasoned, not far from the Cardinal now, who looked like he genuinely wasn't sure.

"You know, I think I'm going to get a nosebleed from this confusion," Galahad murmured from somewhere behind them. "Isn't someone going to do something?"

"There's nothing we can do, we're under command from the church," Arthur replied. "If we interfere, we'll all die."

Tristan was looking between the two girls, trying to figure out which was which, and completely unable to tell the difference. Before, he had been able to distinguish between Helena and Livia by movement alone, but the finely dressed one wasn't moving all that much except to persistently struggle in a manner that could've belonged to either girl, and the one in the plainer clothing could have been either girl. At the moment it was impossible to tell. Both girls were even speaking in the far more sophisticated accent that Livia used. Tristan had a feeling that whichever one Helena was, she had been practicing for something like this for quite some time.

"Can you prove that you're Livia?" the Cardinal questioned. "Perform a reading, show me your heresy."

The girl looked about the crowd, her eyes finding the group of knights standing together easily. She pointed to Lancelot with a sure look in her eye.

"That man there, Lancelot. Within the next week, he will be confronted by all of his wenches because they want him to settle down with only one of them, tired of his non-monogamous ways," the girl predicted.

"It's Helena. She's Helena," Tristan realized. "It has to be, I told her the same thing would happen only fifteen minutes ago or so."

"That doesn't mean it's her. Livia might not be able to do a reading without direct contact with someone," Gawain replied.

"You and Helena talk about me when you're alone?" Lancelot interjected, sounding surprised. "Are you floundering that badly for conversation?"

"Shut up, Lancelot," Arthur cut in, then rose his voice. "Do another reading, Livia."

The girl's eyes fixed on him, and Tristan watched that familiar flicker of annoyance right before it was calmed. Had he ever seen such an expression on Livia's face? He didn't think so. The girl turned to one of the guards of the Cardinal and looked him over for a moment before speaking.

"You're Sarmatian, and you've got only three years left on you contract before you can go back home to your tribe, but you're worried about going back because you aren't sure whether or not you'll be able to find them again because they're nomadic, and there's a possibility that they're dead," she said calmly, and once again Tristan was sure that it had to be Helena. But when she walked, she was like Livia, as was when she spoke.

_If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, looks like a duck, it must be a duck, _his mind reasoned with the old proverb. Using that sentiment than the girl in front of him had to be Livia, but he still wasn't sure.

"You're right," the man said with wonder in his voice. The Cardinal released the girl in the fine gown, who stumbled back. He grabbed the girl in green by her loose hair, dragging her after him, and out of the fortress. Tristan, Lancelot, Arthur, Gawain, and Bors chased after the Cardinal, getting ready for a fight while Dagonet and Galahad retrieved the girl in the gown, making sure she wasn't injured.

"Which one are you?" Galahad asked and the girl looked at him with a dazed expression on her face.

"I don't even know anymore."

Meanwhile, the Cardinal had dragged the girl in green out of the fortress by her hair, throwing her to the hard ground. He was still surrounded by several guardsmen, but Tristan was certain he could take them down himself, which was exactly what he intended to do if Arthur didn't do something soon.

"Livia, occupant of the fortress at Hadrian's Wall, you are charged with heresy and treason, and are therefore sentenced to death by beheading," the Cardinal roared, kicking the girl in the side until she rolled onto her back with a groan. "Griffon, come."

The guard that the girl in green had done a 'reading' of stepped forward, drawing his sword hesitantly. Tristan watched as Lancelot quietly drew both of his swords, and did the same, drawing the sword across his back. Gawain was already readying his battle axe that he had been carrying with him. Bors fisted his knives. Even Arthur was drawing his weapon, to his utter surprise. Tristan had thought Arthur was going to keep his pacifistic opinion during all of this but apparently he was wrong. Without giving any warning, Tristan jumped forward, taking out the guard closest to the Cardinal with a sharp swing of his sword, catching him under his arm, where there wasn't any armor to speak of. The man fell with a shout, dying almost instantly as Tristan withdrew his sword.

Lancelot targeted another one of the guards, their swords clanging loudly as they met. Bors and Gawain went after yet another, Arthur the one still attempting to shield the Cardinal, and Tristan jumped forward to go after the one that was trying to kill the girl in green. The large man was clearly frightened of the scout, the shaking of his sword giving away how afraid he was. Tristan, however, had no mercy for someone who would kill a woman. He found the whole idea distasteful. He skillfully swung his sword about lazily, meeting the mans. It seemed that the guard was taking him to be a fool as Tristan took his time fighting him, wanting to make the guard underestimate him.

"Why do you want to protect the little whore, anyway?" the guard asked with a sneer. "Did she give you a little rough and tumble before you came out here?"

Anger flared red hot through Tristan, and abandoning the lazy swings he had been doing, he brought his sword down with incredible force and speed, sending the other man's sword flying across the field. A harsh kick sent the potential executioner to his knees. It was then that Griffon began to plead with him.

"Come on, now, sir. I'm a Sarmatian, same as you, I'm just trying to get my way home. Don't kill me, I've got a family," he pleaded. Tristan didn't care. His sword swung over his head and then down, effectively beheading the guard, splattering blood everywhere. The body slumped to the ground with a loud thump. The others finished off their prey rather quickly, and sheathing his sword, Tristan made his way over to the girl, who had been unable to move from where she had been thrown because of the men fighting around her.

Carefully, he knelt down next to her, helping her sit up carefully to make sure she hadn't been injured badly. That was when he noticed the thin white scar running across the young woman's collar bone. He couldn't help but sigh, partially from relief, but also because of annoyance.

"You are such an idiot, Helena," he murmured and she looked at him with eyes filled with fear that was slowly fading away. She looked about her at the dead bodies with a look on her face that wasn't so much revulsion as it was indifference. It seemed death didn't bother her.

"That escalated fairly quickly. I was kind of thinking I would've gone on trial or something," she murmured. "But I suppose a field of dead bodies is about the same result, trial or not."

"You could've been killed. You realize that, don't you? Arthur didn't want to make a motion against the church. He was afraid of what was going to happen in retaliation," Tristan said to her, helping Helena stand.

"I know," she said with a sigh. "But it was either I die, or Livia dies, and my conscience won't let me choose the latter. As much as I despise being her caretaker, I would never let anyone kill my sister."

"If you _ever _do _anything _like that again, I'll kill you myself, got it?" Tristan threatened her, hands on her shoulders.

"I second that motion," offered Arthur, who was leading the Cardinal back into the fortress at sword point. "I'd do it now, but I'm busy being excommunicated."

"You didn't have to do anything, though I'm pretty sure they would've killed Livia anyway as an accomplice unless she slept with him," Helena replied, taking Tristan's arm familiarly. He was surprised how easily she slipped out of the more formal accent she had imitated from Livia and into her normal voice, and the way that her steps became less ladylike, her strides lengthening and her boots completely silent on the grass. She was even beginning to carry herself differently from when she was pretending to be Livia. What an accomplished actress this vexing woman was.

"You're a foolish thing, Helena. But you've got huge... whatever it is that women have, for standing up to the Cardinal like that," commented Gawain as he passed them, shouldering his axe. "Do it again and I'll shave your head."

"Well now I _know _I'm not going to do it again," Helena replied.

"Good," Tristan replied, reveling in the feeling of Helena resting her head on his shoulder.

"Did I scare you?" she asked.

"A little," he admitted.

"Is it because you think I'm _beautiful_?" she teased him, and Tristan removed his arm from hers to put it around her shoulders.

"Shut up, Helena," he replied, but smirked despite himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A week had passed since the incident without any problems. The Cardinal was unceremoniously kicked out of the fortress, though several of his men volunteered to serve Arthur, proclaiming that they'd rather be 'eaten by ravenous cannibals' than forced to endure the trip back to Rome with the man. Amongst the men to stay behind was Alaric, who Arthur was more than happy to keep on as he had proven himself to be a worthy guard and a quick thinker. No one had known what to think of Helena's recklessness when the Cardinal had threatened her sister, though many assumed it was madness and didn't bother with her very often, which suited her fine. Livia hadn't quite forgiven her sister for nearly getting herself killed, but had been so grateful to see Helena walk back into the fortress under Tristan's arm, looking mussed by alive, that her irritation had immediately been forgotten as she flung herself into Helena's arms. And, as Helena had predicted, Lancelot had been barraged by his wenches about his constant philandering and was forced to stay in his room for several days or leave in a disguise to escape the thrown food and furniture the young women hurled at him.

"I must know," Tristan asked one day as he and Helena sat alongside the river that ran through the forests near Hadrian's Wall. "How did you know about that guard of the Cardinal having only three more years on his contract?"

Wearing men's clothing again, her hair tied back in a low, messy ponytail and her feet bare, Helena was stretched out in the sun next to Tristan with her feet in the water, daydreaming and looking up at the clouds. Her attention wasn't so diverted, however, that she didn't hear his question and she sat up lazily, looking scruffy with her shirt sliding down and leaving one shoulder bare.

"I don't really remember. I think I overheard him say something of the sort in the tavern one evening," she replied with a shrug. "So many things happened so quickly, I wouldn't be surprised if I just guessed."

Tristan's hand rested on her bare leg where her baggy pants had been rolled up so she could wade in the stream, and he lazily drew invisible symbols on it with his fingertips while he thought. He and Helena had been growing closer and closer over the week, and spent more time with each other than ever, sharing a few secretive kisses and embraces here and there when no one was looking. He didn't know what to make of it, other than it being the best thing that had ever happened to him. Tristan had never cared about wenching as the others had, nor had he intended to settle down with the perfect woman for him as Bors had done(well, sort of done). Women hadn't been on his agenda at all until Helena had stumbled headfirst into his life, ready to flash around a bright smile and overly good intentions along with an almost obscene understanding of himself and the ability to forgive almost everything that was done to her. She was almost _too _good a person, when he considered himself of the neutral, bordering on questionable sort. Perhaps that was why they suited each other so well. Tristan brought just enough evil in her life to keep it interesting while she brought enough good in it to give him moments like these, just sitting in the sunshine by the roaring river, eating wild berries and speaking about everything and nothing.

Helena lay back on the ground again, and Tristan stretched out next to her on his side. All of this was so new to him. Most of his days were spent working almost non-stop, doing menial tasks to keep himself busy while he wasn't training with the others or out on some mission with Arthur. He had to admit that this whole relaxation thing suited him well. He had never slept so well in his life, not even after a full day of battle without rest or sustenance. Helena gently took his hand into her own, resting it on her bare stomach where the ill fitting tunic had moved up to reveal skin. Tristan hadn't known that an entire person could be as soft as Helena was, and he reveled in the feeling of her skin against his own as they lay there in a comfortable silence.

"What are you thinking about with such a serious look upon your face?" Helena asked, turning to him with a placid smile gracing her lips, her thumb stroking the back of his hand.

"You," he replied truthfully, moving closer to her so that their noses were almost brushing.

"What about me?"

"Everything."

"Why? Am I getting fat?" she said this with a feigned look of panic on her face that Tristan would've thought was real if it wasn't for the person that he was sitting with. For some reason, Helena always teased about the strangest of things, a habit that turned out to be one of the only things that could make him smile. Often he would lay in bed at night and reminisce, and he would remember some stupid/strange thing that Helena did or said and would smile or laugh again even though it had been hours since it had happened.

"No, you're beautiful but you already know that, I suspect," he replied, leaning in to kiss her softly.

"Livia still hasn't forgiven me for saying I was the prettier one when I was saving her life," she commented with a laugh. "Did you know that you're the only person that's ever said I was 'beautiful'?"

Tristan was surprised, "Really?"

Helena nodded, her smile growing even more. Tristan could feel his heart rise at the sight of her smile, and he shifted slightly so he could kiss her again. Helena responded quickly, smiling into their kiss. When they finally parted, they were both smiling. Tristan rested his head on Helena's shoulder, one arm across her stomach. She kissed his forehead, one hand stroking his hair, and the other resting lightly on the arm across her stomach.

_I didn't know it could be like this, _Tristan thought in genuine bliss for the first time. He didn't realize he had said it out loud until Helena answered his thought.

"Neither did I," she said softly.

North of Hadrian's Wall, a conversation was taking place at almost the exact same moment that had nothing to do with happiness or love. And there certainly wasn't any cuddling. Several men were encamped in a large clearing of the woods, dozens of tents set up, painted in varying shades of greys and blues to make them difficult to distinguish from their surroundings. Along the borders of the clearing, others patrolled, their swords drawn in the event of a Woad attack. They had been followed, they were all sure of it, but they weren't sure when or where the Woads would attack, as attack was inevitable. A large fire was crackling merrily in the center of the clearing, impossible to see from the outskirts because of the many tents surrounding it, and around it were the four men who were leading the others that were currently in a state of camp preparation and security control.

The first man, who wore only black, his face heavily shadowed by the hood of his cloak, was the first to speak. His heavily accented voice made it quite clear that he was not British, nor was he Roman. The others didn't actually know where he was from either, and had never bothered to ask. They had all seen him kill his own soldiers with his bare hands. They weren't about to cross him or annoy him.

"We are close. Very close. I am sure of it now," he said, taking a swig out of the flask he carried with him and wiping his mouth with his black shirt sleeve. "She will be ours very soon. We will no longer have to worry about any interference on our plan."

"How can we be so sure that they've stopped at Arthur Castus' fortress?" asked the second man, who was of the big, burly sort, with enough brains to realize that the other man was glaring at him, but not enough to cower.

"Because, Ermeus," the man in black explained in a slow, irritated voice. "_She _is not stupid. She knows that Arthur will protect her and the reader. He seems to have quite the affinity for damsels in distress, and she probably played that to the largest extent."

"For all we know, the eldest is dead somewhere from that arrow wound, and the reader's scampered off somewhere else," argued the third man, who tended to argue nearly everything, a fact that irked his companions a great deal. However, he did have a good point.

"That is possible, except that it hasn't happened," the man in black assured him in a voice leaving no room for dissension. "Helena would never allow her sister to run about without a guard of some sort. If she has died, she has gotten the reader to safety first, and without the eldest twin running about then our lives have just gotten much easier."

The fourth man said nothing, couldn't say anything. Several weeks before he had been in an argument with the man in black and had his tongue sliced off with a sharp dagger. He had been forced to command his part of the forces via writing, and when that didn't work, he'd have one of the other men interpret for him. There was nothing like a game of charades to get a soldier's mind up and running. The unfortunate thing was, the fourth man's wound had gone untended to for far too long, and was badly infected, slowly turning black within his mouth, a sight that greatly disturbed many. There wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that the infection would eventually spread to his brain and he would be killed by it if his darkly clothed comrade didn't beat him to it. At the moment he was holding himself, shivering even though he was next to the fire. The other men looked at him, their brows not creasing with even the pretense of worry. Perhaps he would die sooner than they thought though. How inconvenient.

For years now they had been tracking the twins as they desperately fled through the countryside, occasionally circling back around and taking odd paths, as if the two were trying to lose their stalkers. It was all for naught, except to tire out their horses even more, and stretch themselves to beyond their own capacities. No matter how many times Helena and Livia packed up and left in the middle of the night without warning, no matter how often they checked into one inn only to sleep in one on a completely different side of town, their followers were always close behind. And now it was time to move in and finally take what they wanted.

Livia was a witch, there was no doubt about it, and there was only one thing to do with a witch: you burnt it, plain and simple. They planned on dragging her out in front of Arthur Castus' fortress and burning her to death for all to see, though they wanted to have a little fun with her first, as they had done with her sister. Helena had been less than satisfying when it came to torture, only screaming the first few times around, then immediately falling so silent while they tried out new methods on her that they were sure that she had fallen asleep. A young woman that was no longer afraid of them wasn't the greatest morale booster, one of the reasons why he hadn't kept a higher guard on the eldest twin. It had been a mistake, obviously, as Helena was in better condition than originally supposed and broke her twin out of her cell, both of them escaping in the dead of night. No one had even noticed what had happened until the next morning when one of the guards was found unconscious and both of the cells were empty, their doors wide open. That hadn't been a very good day, considering that the man in black had killed five of their guards on a whim.

They would have to make a move soon if they planned on getting to the reader before her sister got spooked and decided to move off to find another shelter again. From what his spies within the fortress had told him, Helena had grown rather close with one of the knights, a fact that would probably cloud her judgment sufficiently enough to keep her from wanting to leave any time soon.

_That's going to cost you, little girl, _the man in black thought with a sneer. _It's going to cost you your sister. And if we can't have her then I'll be more than happy to take you back. I'm sure you've been missing our little 'sessions'. _

The man's sneer widened to a full-fledged grin, remembering the young woman fondly.

_God knows I've been missing you. I certainly hope we'll be seeing each other again soon._

Livia rolled over in her sleep, her body tensing as she felt a new vision coming on. For weeks now she had been having horrific nightmares, visions of what was to come, but she couldn't make any sense of it. They had begun to trouble her so greatly that she was barely sleeping anymore, and allowing herself to fall out of good keeping. Her face had grown pale and drawn, and dark circles were beginning to form under her eyes. There was only one thing that Livia could do about it. Rather than fighting the vision that was coming, she was going to have to accept it and see it in full. Most of the time her visions weren't so persistent, but apparently she wasn't going to get off easily on this one.

Livia's body let out a loud sigh as if she were still awake, accepting the fact that her mind was elsewhere now, her eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids. After a moment of intense concentration, Livia's subconscious finally reached the place it need to be, the part of her mind where the visions came from, and there it rested, waiting.

It didn't have to wait long.

_Swords clashed and rang loudly on the battlefield, and though most of the visions were distorted, Livia could easily tell that they were still somewhere near Hadrian's Wall. Blood misted into the air as men fought each other cruelly, slaughtering one another without any thought. Very few of them were wearing armor, she realized with horror, watching as a man who's face was blurred, took a sword in the side but continued fighting as if it hadn't happened at all. _

_Her subconscious zoomed through the crowds of men battling each other, searching for someone or something though Livia wasn't sure what. Suddenly, she found herself standing in front of a man dressed all in black, his hood falling off of his head to reveal a face that seemed vaguely recognizable though Livia couldn't put a name to it if her life depended on it. She was kneeling before him. She could feel the weight of armor upon her shoulders, and looked down at her own hands. What disturbed her was they _were _her hands, though she had expected to see the hands of a man. The darkly clothed man in front of her raised the huge sword he was carrying, the wolf's head pommel gleaming in the sunlight. _

_But Livia wasn't there anymore, now she was standing somewhere else, no longer a part of an entity, but a spectator once again in the cruel sport of war. It seemed as if the battle were nearly over, many were laying dead or dying in the field and in the distance, Livia could see Hadrian's Wall and Arthur's fortress beyond. As she moved closer, gliding over the blood-slick grass, she found herself standing near a man dressed in oddly familiar armor, armor that was a little too light for a battle but perfect for riding around and taking out Woads. What kind of surprise had caught them so quickly that none of them were dressed in proper battle gear? As she moved closer she realized that the man was Tristan, his face half covered with someone else's blood, his sword hanging limply in his hand. _

_Livia had never thought of Tristan as a man of great emotion, but when she saw him fall to his knees on the ground in front of something that she couldn't quite see, her vision blurring it so that all she could see was Tristan and a little ways beyond him. She kept her eyes fixated on him as he kept his eyes fixed on whatever was on the ground, a look of absolute shock on his usually placid face. His eyes were rather wide, his mouth slightly agape, panic flashing over his features in a way that she had never seen, though she had seen similar looks on Helena's face before. _

"_No," he moaned, barely over a whisper. His voice was choked with sorrow, his eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears. "Not you... please, no."_

_Livia couldn't stand to see that look of sorrow upon the man's face any longer, feeling like a voyeur and hating herself for it. She willed her subconscious to find her sister, desperate to find out what had happened to Helena during the course of the battle, but for some reason, it didn't move a single inch. What was this? Livia usually had better control over her visions than this. Why couldn't she find Helena? She tried again, and to her discontent, stayed quite persistently right in front of Tristan's kneeling form. Deciding there was quite clearly something that she hadn't noticed yet here, something that she needed to see, Livia forced herself to move closer to Tristan, turning around so she could see what he saw. _

_The moment the vision that had brought the strongest man she knew to his knees met Livia's eyes, there was only one thing she could do: she screamed. _

"Livia! Livia wake up, it's Helena, everything is okay sweetheart, you're just having a bad dream!" the familiar voice broke through Livia's mental boundaries, and she immediately stopped screaming, realizing that the sound had carried over from her subconscious state to her conscious one.

"Oh my God, Helena!" she exclaimed, throwing herself at her sister and embracing her, weeping into the nape of her sister's neck, allowing herself to be enveloped in the warm scent of spices and pachouli that had been her greatest comfort for several years of bad dreams. Helena hugged her back, her warm arms squeezing her tightly while one hand stroked Livia's hair in a comforting manner.

"It's all right now, Livia. No one's going to hurt you, it was just a dream," Helena whispered softly, planting a kiss on the top of Livia's head. "I'm right here. You don't need to be scared anymore."

Livia calmed slightly in her sister's arms, breathing deeply, committing the moment to memory. Finally, she released Helena, sitting back on the flagstones. Much to her relief, her screams hadn't heralded any of the knights, who were probably more than used to the sound by now and had just slept through it or didn't bother coming when they heard Helena leave the room. Livia always felt bad when she woke up the others with her nightmares/visions. The knights needed all of their strength for their training, lest they be attacked in the middle of the night, and didn't get enough sleep as it was with their drinking in the tavern until all hours of the night.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked Helena, a comforting hand resting on Livia's shoulder. Livia gave her a weak smile and shook her head 'no'. This definitely wasn't something that Helena needed to hear about. She loved her sister too much to expose her to the evils that invaded her subconscious. Helena was far from innocent, thanks to the darkness that had disrupted their world, but Livia took comfort in knowing that as much as Helena protected her, she could reciprocate the action at least a little. Helena sighed, but didn't push the matter.

"How about I make us a pot of tea, and we can sit up and have some girl talk?" Helena suggested, recognizing that Livia wasn't planning on going back to sleep any time soon. "We haven't had that in a million years, that's for sure."

"Alright," Livia replied, her smile at least a little genuine.

While her sister was gone, Livia spent the time trying to erase the vision from the foreground of her mind, wanting to actually be able to enjoy the time she spent with Helena. But how could she enjoy it when... Livia caught herself.

_No, I can't be thinking like that, _she reminded herself, tidying up her room a bit so it was a bit more presentable, not that Helena's room was as clean as a convent. Once Helena came back with a pot of tea and two tea cups balanced precariously atop of one another, the two sat at the small table near the window, drinking tea and chatting about everything while the sun slowly rose.

"So I hear that you snuck Tristan out of training yesterday," teased Livia, picking a light-hearted enough subject that she could keep Helena slightly flustered with and lead away any talking about her vision. "I think Arthur's still laughing about it. He said that he just turned around and Tristan was suddenly gone. Lancelot said the same, and _he_ was _sparring_ with Tristan. You seem to have quite a talent for making the scout disappear without warning."

Helena was blushing slightly, which made Livia smile. Her sister had gone so long without any romance in her life that Livia was starting to wonder if she was putting herself up for sainthood, or perhaps adjourning to a nunnery once their pursuers gave up. Livia had known all along that something was going to happen between Helena and Tristan, and it didn't take the sight to know that. All she had to do was see the way that he had immediately rushed to her when she had woken up after being asleep for five days when they first arrived, and Livia knew that there was something unspoken and undiscovered between the two. It was about time that they finally discovered it, Livia had been getting impatient.

"Well?" Livia prompted Helena. "Where did you go off to?"

"Just off to the river that cuts through the woods," Helena said, but her face broke out into a real smile at the memory. It was such a rare sight sometimes that Livia took great pleasure in seeing her sister smile like that. "Oh, Livia, it was wonderful. I don't know how to properly describe it to you, it's like I had this big hole in my soul but now I feel full again. That sounds horribly corny doesn't it?"

"Even worse than that," Livia teased. "So did you...uh..."

"No!" replied Helena kicking her sister under the table. "Nothing of the sort, we don't know each other well enough to even _think _about anything like that. But..."

"But what?" Livia asked.

"We _have _kissed," Helena replied, turning a dark shade of red. Livia laughed at her.

"That's so sweet, I have a great amount of hope riding on you two, so you better not do something stupid, Helena," Livia warned her.

"Stupid like what?"

How did Helena do that? Livia opened her mouth about to allow her vision to pour out of it when she realized what had happened and shut it immediately. How was it that her sister could twist a conversation so easily? Had she even done it on purpose? Either way, Livia had to watch what she said.

"Like pretending you're me and nearly getting yourself beheaded in front of our newest home, for example," Livia replied. "As kind as it is of you to stand up for me, I really hate when you put yourself into such danger. Couldn't you have thought of something else? Like sending one of the men up claiming that I was you, and you going to hide somewhere?"

"Well, I didn't necessarily have a battle plan lain out with Arthur over what to do if you get captured by an over-zealous Cardinal who wishes you dead, sister, but next time I'll be more prepared," Helena's reply was tinged with irritation.

"I don't mean to offend you, Lena," Livia immediately said. "I just don't like the idea of you getting yourself hurt for me especially after... you know."

"Are you still stuck on all of that?" Helena asked, taking Livia's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "It's nothing but a shadow to me, it happened so long ago. I don't even think about it that much anymore."

"You're a liar, but I love you for it Helena," Livia replied with a weak smile, sitting back in her chair. She glanced out of the window, unable to keep the look of apprehension off of her face as she caught sight of the very field that her vision had occurred. As always, Helena noticed this look and her brows knitted as she looked at her sister.

"There's danger coming, isn't there?" she asked.

"Yes, but I'm not sure what kind," Livia replied softly, feeling the warmth of the sun as the light finally pierced through her window. Helena was practically bathed in it by the position she was sitting in, glowing like an angel sent down to earth. Her appearance was almost divine.

"How bad is it going to be?" Helena asked, her voice softening as she turned to look out of the window as well, though there was no visible trouble even to her trained eye. Livia debated as to whether or not tell her the truth before deciding that it was for the best.

"Very. More than you can possibly imagine," Livia confided in her.

"I can't leave him Livia," her twin stated plainly, the first selfish thing she'd ever uttered in Livia's presence.

"I know," Livia sighed, blinking away tears. "I know you can't."


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer:** I don't own King Arthur (Duh). I do, however, own this story line. It is not stolen, and the original characters (most notably Helena and Livia) are of my own creation. The events depicted within this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

**Author's Note**: I know this chapter is long overdue! I'm so sorry it took me so long to post it, but I was on vacation in Florida and didn't get back until a few days ago, and along with an on going illness, it's been difficult to find my way to the computer, even for my dearest readers. I promise I'll be returning to my prompt self very soon.

On a side note, the beginning of this chapter is much more entertaining if you listen to 'It's Raining Men' while you read it. Somehow that makes everything at least 75 funnier than it already is.

Reviews are appreciated!

Chapter Nine

Tristan had just gotten the urgent summons to the Round Table room when he happened to overhear a conversation that would change the way the rest of his life would flow. He had been walking past the Roman guardsmen's barracks, taking his time as he didn't much feel like going into another meeting and was in the mood to go out riding with his hawk for a good while or to spend another afternoon with Helena by his side, when by some impulse he stopped near the common room door as he overheard someone speaking. Normally, Tristan wasn't one for eavesdropping unless he thought the matter to be extremely important, but something in his gut told him that this was a conversation he didn't want to miss. Maybe Helena and her little 'intuitions' were starting to get to him.

"... and she's been ignoring me for that damned scout of Arthur's, even though he isn't her very own personal knight in shining armor," came a plaintive voice that Tristan recognized as Alaric's. Neither he nor Helena had heard much from the guardsmen commander from Rome after they had become more involved, and he had assumed that Alaric was done with his pursuit of Helena.

"Well, he _is _a knight, Alaric. Maybe she's attracted to people like that," reasoned whoever Alaric was speaking with. "You know how fickle women are. I mean, you saved her life and all, but maybe you just aren't dangerous enough for her."

"And that _slave_ is?" Alaric grumbled, making Tristan grind his teeth in irritation at the slight. Yes, he was technically a slave to the Romans, but not once had he been called as such. It was sickening. "I lost a good pocketful of gold paying off that man. He sent it all home to his family, too, so there's no way I can get it back. Maybe if I had let him truss her up a little bit more instead of rushing in so quickly..."

"You can't help it if he didn't scare her badly enough. Besides, the knights were in there so quickly, you didn't have time to comfort her or anything of the sort," the other man answered. "It's so hard to hire good help these days. But then again, women are so hard to get through to. You would've been better off actually letting him rape her."

Tristan didn't need to hear anymore. Without another word, he burst into the room, pushing back the one man and throwing a wild punch, catching Alaric hard in the face. The guardsman looked momentarily surprised, before he tackled Tristan over a table, sending both of them splaying to the ground, though they were quick to get up. Grabbing Alaric by the neck of his tunic, he shoved the guardsman out of the common room and out into the open, wanting more room to pound the slimy bastard into a pulp before he killed him. He punched the other man in the face before being plunged headfirst into the water trough by the man, throwing another punch and missing as his hair fell in his eyes. A large group of people had gathered, watching in interest as Alaric punched Tristan again, getting the knight in the jaw, but not deterring him whatsoever. They were even cheering them on, most of the citizens cheering for Tristan while the guards cheered for Alaric.

Feeling his anger for the bastard growing even stronger, Tristan punched Alaric as hard as he could, catching the man right in the stomach and making him double over before kicking him to the ground. Chest heaving, Alaric picked himself up off of the ground, catching a glancing blow at Tristan's arm, then managed to get him in the side with his other fist rather hard. Somewhere in the background, Helena had emerged from the tavern and was attempting to get to them but Lancelot (thankfully) had a hold on her, keeping her from getting herself hurt by doing something foolish. The gods knew that Helena had a bad habit of flinging herself into things she couldn't possibly get out of if she didn't have more luck then every man in the fortress combined.

"Wait! Wait!" Alaric pleaded, and Tristan waited a moment while the guardsman seemed to recover himself. However, he was caught by surprise when the man threw a flying tackle, catching him unawares and throwing him painfully to the ground. Alaric got one good punch in while they were down before Tristan's fist connected firmly with his jaw, sending him sprawling.

Tristan quickly got to his feet, grabbing an abandoned shield and catching Alaric in the side with it as he attempted to get back up. Helena finally managed to break from Lancelot's strong grip just as Alaric rose, putting herself between both men. Tristan was panting heavily, and wiped blood out of the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared down Alaric over Helena's head.

"What in the hell are you two doing?" she demanded. "This isn't some bloody wrestling ring you realize? There are children here."

"Bastard just came in and attacked me," Alaric defended himself, glaring at Tristan, who put a hand on the small of Helena's back very gently.

"I overheard Alaric talking about how he hired that man that attacked you in your bedroom so that he could come in and be a big hero for you," Tristan told her, his lips close to her ear. He didn't have to look to know that her hands had formed into fists.

"Oh really? Go on then," she prompted him, stepping out from between the two and staying nearby with her arms crossed over her chest, standing next to Dagonet with a look of annoyance on her face. Stirred on by Helena's approval, Tristan through another punch, tossing Alaric to the ground easily. With a kick to the gut for good measure, Tristan crouched over the guardsman, grabbing him by the front of his tunic and pulling a dagger out of his boot.

"If I ever see you near her, or this place, again I will kill you in the slowest, most painful way that I can think of, do you understand me?" he threatened, his voice as cold as death. Alaric nodded, his eyes wide with fear. He was lucky today. Not many people got to hear Tristan's voice like that, and very few of them had survived to tell others about it. Re-sheathing his dagger, Tristan rose to be greeted by Helena, putting an arm around her waist as she looked down at the man in disgust while he looked up at her in pleading. Much to his surprise, she aimed a hard kick at a place that no man should ever be kicked in before adding an caveat to Tristan's former statement.

"But first I'll take that sorry excuse for manhood you've got hidden down there," she said. Alaric looked like he might be crying. Tristan certainly felt like he might, just thinking about the absolute agony of being kicked so hard in the genitals. He fought the urge to limp out of pity for the man and allowed Helena to lead him away, not willing to go against her wishes with the mood she was in.

She led him into her bedroom, sitting him on the edge of her bed while she filled a basin with some water from a pitcher, wetting a cloth with it as she began cleaning the blood off of his face with a tenderness that had never been afforded to him by anyone before. Her hands lightly brushed his tattoos as she looked his face over to make sure that she hadn't missed any blood before Helena pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Tristan's mouth then sat on the bed next to him, taking his hand into hers in order to clean up his bloodied knuckles. She was frowning a bit as she did so, and Tristan knew she didn't like the way the skin had ripped from punching Alaric.

"It doesn't hurt badly, I promise," he said to her as she began very gently cleaning his hand, making little noises when she could tell it hurt him even though Tristan didn't make a sound. He was so content just watching her that he barely even felt the stinging sensation as the rough cloth brushed his wounds. She kissed his hand above his knuckles before taking the next one and cleaning it as well.

"You really shouldn't have done that. Won't Arthur be angry?" Helena asked quietly as she worked, her eyes never leaving Tristan's hand.

"Not when he hears my reasoning. Ow!" he exclaimed when she got him on an exceptionally tender part of his hand.

"Sorry," she murmured, becoming even more gentle with him. "What were you doing by the guard chambers anyway?"

"Arthur called us to a meeting in the round table room," Tristan replied, watching the expression on Helena's face subtly change into one of panic before melting away into the calm that he was so familiar with.

"Do you know what for?" she asked casually, finishing with his hand and setting it back on the bed so she could stand and get some bandages for his knuckles.

"I thought I saw Livia speaking with him earlier, so I imagine you already know what all of this is about," Tristan replied, watching as her shoulders stiffened though her back was to him. He wondered if she hid emotions when she was alone as well, or if her face displayed the discomfort she was feeling while it wasn't facing him. He rose from the bed, putting a hand on her shoulder, and Helena jumped slightly as if she hadn't heard him rise. "What is it?"

"It's– it's nothing," she replied, turning back to him. "Come, let's bandage those hands."

However, Tristan wasn't about to let her get away with that, even though he knew that he'd be hearing everything about it in a few minutes from Arthur, for some reason he'd prefer to hear Helena say it first. Mostly because Helena knew true, unadulterated fact, while Arthur knew only what her twin thought he should know. He put one hand on her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Helena turned her face in and kissed his palm, but he could see the blatant shine of fear in her eyes. The idea that anything could scare her enough to make her show it was enough to nearly floor Tristan, and his voice was decidedly soft when he spoke next.

"What happened?" he asked. "What did Livia see?"

Helena searched his eyes for a moment before moving closer to him, wrapping her arms around Tristan's waist and resting her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her in return, running his fingers through her hair and kissing her on the top of her head. She said nothing and they stood there for a long minute. At first, he wondered if she was crying until finally she spoke up, her voice free from tears.

"She won't tell me everything, Tristan, but there's someone coming to the fortress, and it's not going to be good. She says that the battle will be long and bloody and she's not sure who will win," Helena replied, burying her face in his tunic and hugging him even more tightly.

"You aren't safe here," he said, pushing her slightly away from him so he could look Helena in the face. "We can have you and Livia out of the fortress by dawn tomorrow, I'm sure Arthur would be more than happy to supply you."

"I'm _not _leaving," she replied almost viciously in a tone that he had never heard before. "I _won't _leave you here."

Tristan sighed, "Helena, I cannot leave with you. I am bound to protect this fortress until my fifteen years are over. If I was to break that contract, we'd have more than just the men after Livia to worry about. The entire church would be attempting to hunt us down. Besides, I owe my allegiance to Arthur, I could not leave him even if I was given the opportunity."

"Then I'm staying too," Helena declared in a decided tone. Tristan sighed again, kissing her forehead and pulling her closely to him.

"There's nothing I can do to stop you, is there?" he asked her in a slightly hopeless voice, fiddling with her hair as he tried not to think about what could happen to her if she was left behind. She had never gone into detail as to what happened when the men that had been chasing herself and her sister had captured her, but just mentioning it in front of her made it quite clear that it was horrific. He couldn't let something like that happen to her again, he wouldn't.

"Not a thing," she confirmed, pressing a kiss to his jaw and burying her face in the crook of his neck, her warm breath tickling him. "I just couldn't leave you. Not like that."

For a moment, Tristan just stood there and held Helena, closing his eyes and memorizing the moment. How could something be so painful? He didn't know his heart could feel as if it was breaking at just the mere _idea_ of someone else dying. He had been killing as a career for _years_ now, and the loss of a single woman, insignificant to the rest of the world, could bring him to his knees with grief? As unlikely as it seemed, it was happening, and for whatever reason Tristan didn't find it as intolerable as he thought he would've. In fact, it seemed like the most reasonable emotion he had ever felt in his life.

He didn't even realize it when he started kissing Helena, forgetting about his hands as he pulled her tightly against him as he took in the feeling of her hands fisting in his hair or her soft lips as she responded eagerly to his caress. Tristan could practically hear the blood rushing through his veins, his heart was pounding so loud, and he knew Helena felt the same way as she pulled away for a moment in order to draw breath, her cheeks flushed and her eyes glassy. She smiled fondly up at him in the kind, trusting way that he had become accustomed to her looking at him with, before moving in to kiss him again as eagerly as before, hands gripping his tunic, tongue searching his mouth. It was he that pulled away this time, hoping he hadn't turned red.

"That's probably not a good idea," he warned her. "We should stop."

"Why?" Helena asked, looking vaguely disappointed.

"Because we're in a room alone and you haven't had the best..." he was more than surprised when her lips cut him off, pressing hard against his own.

"I trust you, Tristan. Whenever I'm with you, all those horrible things that happened to me... it's like they went away," she told him, her eyes bright with passion. "There isn't anyone else I'd rather be with."

"Are you sure?" he asked, moving a little closer, trying not to be eager.

"Yes," she whispered, closing the gap between them once more.

Tristan practically stumbled into the Round Table Room an hour later, much to Arthur's amusement. He had seen the fight that had erupted between his knight and the Roman guard, and after hearing about Tristan's reasoning, he wasn't about to punish his friend for perfectly reasonable anger. Arthur would've done much the same had he heard the information first. And when he'd seen Helena usher her lover off into a room to tend to his wounds, he'd been glad to wait for Tristan to return, no matter how long it took. And no matter how much snickering he heard from Lancelot and Gawain through the whole time. The strangely happy and satisfied look on Tristan's face upon his entrance had been enough to make all of that time spent waiting worth it. He was happy for Tristan, despite his own loneliness.

"You're late," Galahad reminded Tristan with a knowing smile on his youthful face.

"I got...distracted," Tristan reasoned, taking his seat and not meeting anyone's eyes. Arthur couldn't help but smile at this, but didn't say anything. Lancelot, however, had never thought on the same wavelength as his commander.

"Yes, Helena must be quite a...distraction," the curly-haired knight said with a smirk. "Seeing as your belt's gone missing and your tunic is crooked. What in the world could you have _possibly _been doing?"

"Leave him be, Lancelot," Dagonet warned the other knight, and gestured to Arthur. "Arthur called us here for a reason. We'll leave trivial matters for the tavern."

"Thank you," Arthur said to the knight, who nodded his bald head in reply, his eyes twinkling merrily with humor. His commander, however, could not help but be grave. After what Livia had told him within his quarters earlier, he didn't know what to think, and couldn't begin to guess what his knights reactions would be. "This morning, Livia intercepted me after breaking the fast to tell me of a recent vision that she's been having during the night. I come to you today to not only relay it to you, but to get your opinions on what should be done. There _is _a way that we can remain inactive in the future, though it would mean doing something that I, and I'm sure the rest of you, would be reluctant to do."

Tristan was glaring at him, Arthur could practically feel his scout's white hot glare penetrating his skin. They both knew what they would have to do in order to prevent what was going to happen from happening, and as much as Arthur hated to do this, he had to give his men the option not to fight. It wasn't their battle, after all, but the battle of two young women who had been unlucky enough to get in the way of some very angry and dangerous men. If his men didn't feel the cause was worthy... then Arthur would have no choice but to send Helena and Livia away in order to avoid the attack, a possibility that Livia had already presented to him.

"Well, Arthur, get on with it," Bors urged on impatiently. It was clear his men wanted to know what was heading towards them, and Arthur couldn't blame them. He had never given them the option not to fight before, and because of it they had lost quite a few men. However, all those times, the fights had been directed by the church, who he hadn't been willing to disagree with until recently. The new problem was as far away from the church as it could possibly get.

"Livia has had a vision of a great battle taking place outside of the fortress against the men that have been chasing herself and her sister for these many years," Arthur announced, and waited a moment for the idea to sink in before speaking again. "She says that they will come unexpectedly, and with great force but that despite the fact, we will win the battle. Many lives will be lost, though she says none of my knights will be struck down. She tells me that there will be blood, and a lot of it."

He paused again, not intending for it to be dramatic, but in order to take in the look on his men's faces. Galahad looked a little reluctant at the idea of a great battle, which would most likely be the likes of which he had never seen before. Or any of them, for that matter. Lancelot and Gawain seemed to be in deep thought over the ordeal, though his best friend had a ready look on his face that suggested that he would fight a battle, even if it wasn't his own. Dagonet and Bors appeared to have already made up their minds and were speaking quietly to one another, debating over what weapons they would take and how much they would bet as to whom would kill the most. Tristan... Tristan didn't need to think about it, Arthur already knew this. His scout would be reluctant to take up the battle under any other circumstance, feeling that it wasn't their problem to deal with, but since he had become so entwined with Helena, there was no doubt that he would be more than happy to kill her aggressors. He stared back at Arthur, his dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that was indescribable, an emotion that Arthur had never seen before on the stoic man's face.

"We do not _have _to fight this battle, however," Arthur finally continued, satisfied by the idea that perhaps his men were more ready for this than he originally thought. "Livia has already presented the possibility that we could send herself and her sister away from the fortress, luring the men elsewhere and keeping us out of harm's way. I, personally, am unwilling to do this. However, I am leaving this as an open forum. It is _your _decision, men, and not mine that will affect the outcome of this meeting. It is your decision whether or not I will step out of here in order to tell Helena and Livia they must get ready to leave, or whether I tell them that we are willing to stand up for a cause that is not entirely our own."

"You already know what my answer is to all of this," Tristan replied.

"Well, Dagonet and I are in as well," Bors said after a long moment, looking sure of himself.

"As am I," volunteered Lancelot.

"And I," added Gawain.

There was only one person left to wait for, and all of the knight stared at Galahad expectantly. He looked rather reluctant to answer, and Arthur wouldn't be shocked if the young man didn't just leave the room without giving his answer. Galahad had already been a pacifist. Fighting had never been his forte, a fact that he brought up more than once. No one would be surprised if he said he refused to fight, however they all waited patiently for his answer.

Galahad sighed, "Alright, I'll do it."

The men looked exceedingly proud of him, and Tristan rose to pat him on the back before leaving the room to tell the sisters who were waiting patiently outside. Already, Arthur could hear Livia's excited whooping and Helena's soft murmur as she spoke with her lover. He couldn't help but smile, though the prospect of battle was not a welcome one. He could only hope that it all ended as well as Livia said it would, and that the sisters would be able to live in happiness and comfort for the rest of their lives. No one deserved it more.

"Someone see to it that _both_ sisters are trained with swords," Arthur finally said to the remaining knights. "Though I would prefer that neither is in combat, it may not be avoided and I would rest easier knowing they know how to defend themselves."


End file.
